


Come Hell or High Water

by Melanie_D_Peony



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas (2003)
Genre: Angst, Bickering, Blood, Crossover, Drinking, Eventual Happy Ending, Everything is soft, Flirting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Pirates, Plot is a mere excuse to write fluff, Pre-Apocalypse, Prostitution, Swearing, This will "give you cavities if it doesn't drive you to the bottle", Unrequited Love, cheesy goodness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 10:24:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20307940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanie_D_Peony/pseuds/Melanie_D_Peony
Summary: It's a little known fact that the "Tadfield Incident" wasn't the first time humanity came close to being exterminated.God is ready to smite her incorrigible humans and the only thing between them and the extinction is a certain angel and a certain demon who have to put their differences aside if they wish to save the planet they grew so fond of.But are they competent enough to take on Lucifer himself as they sail to the end of the world to retrieve the Book of Peace?And what will happen when they realise that deep down, they have a whole lot in common, both being of angel stock and all? Are angels allowed to develop feelings for demons? Do demons have feelings at all?





	1. Patron saint of the lost causes

**Author's Note:**

> "You and I, it's as though we had been taught to love in Heaven and sent down to Earth together to see if we had learned what we were taught." /Boris Pasternak/
> 
> This is a work of fan fiction. The author does not own any of these characters.

**Somewhere between Greece and Italy - Ancient days**

_ On the sixth day, _

_ God accomplished His work, _

_ And, pleased with all the beauty _

_ He had created, _

_ He took the Earth in His hands _

_ And kissed it. _

_ There, where He had put His lips, _

_ That's Syracuse. _

Just as he finished reading the paragraph, his superintendent tapped his shoulder. He expected to be found out of course and he was surprised it hadn't happened sooner. Going above deck because he was seasick was a terrible excuse. Angels don't get nauseous.

'Here you are, with your head in a book as always, Aziraphale. ' Raphael said, hands disappearing amongst the folds of his luxurious toga as he placed them on his hips. 'You know, your constant yearning for knowledge would be interpreted as a sign of rebellion by some.'

'Not by you, your Holiness.' It was meant to be a statement, but his voice rose high at the end of his sentence, searchingly. 

'No. Not by me.'

Angels, as a rule, disapproved of reading. Even Raphael, who was generally sympathetic towards humans, doubted that there was anything worthy of attention in books. The consensus was that angels needn't have to bother learning human knowledge, as they already knew all that was to know about the universe; they were there, admiring as God conjured up the laws of physics, as She set fire to the first stars. The mathematics of a civilisation living among stupefying heat and camel dung, the astronomy of the people populating the hostile jungles were like a child's interpretation of, say, the Pergamon Altar; you could see the divine inspiration but it was merely a crude implementation of the original.

'What's this one about?' Raphael emitted an exasperated sigh. 'Is it as depressing as the one with the woman who was prohibited to bury her late father?'

'It's an account of man's travel's through Syracuse.'

'And why spoil the surprise when we are bound to arrive there in the matter of hours?'

'I may not be surprised, but it doesn't mean that I won't be filled with admiration. Some of the buildings he described sound simply…'

'Sticks and stones, they got quite sophisticated with them.' Nodded Raphael. 'Whether it's stacking them, or using them on bones.' 

'I just thought you might see their improvement in architecture as a sure sign of them getting more civilised.' 

'I see it as a sign of their greed, their hybris, definitely. But civilization? I'm not so sure about that. Of course they improved, but humanity only ever improves anything as the means or as the results of war. They may have changed their technology for the better, but they have not changed in any meaningful way.' Raphael touched his hand to his chest where an ordinary human's heart would have resided. 

Aziraphale was going to say something, but then thought better of it and only nodded.

'Forgive me. I got carried away'.

'You think I am too hard on them, of course.' 

'I am aware that you are the only principality left, arguing in favour of humanity.' 

'And their constant warmongering is making my job increasingly difficult. That is why the Book of Peace is so important, Aziraphale. It's supposed to put an end to all this misery, before She decides to wipe the slate clean. Again. A little feature that surely demands more attention than that dusty journal in your hand.' 

Aziraphale put the volume in his pocket, defeated.

'Yes, your Holiness.' 

Raphael stooped, like a general who just realised that he won the battle but only by the price of immense casualties. He placed his hand, gently, on the angels shoulder.

'How long have we known each other? How many eons? I wish you would stop with the formalities. Just call me Raphael. Please.'

'I'll try and remember, your Holiness.' Raphael's hand recoiled. 'If you'll excuse me. I gather it's my turn to guard the Book.' 

He waited for Raphael's dismissal. The archangel waved at him, absentmindedly, his eyes held steady on the tiny dot of Syracuse in the distance.

'Go.' 

So Aziraphale made his way below deck with unseeing eyes, following mindlessly the route to the cargo hold, he became so accustomed to, during their long journey. 

The Book was a masterpiece. The height of craftsmanship. It was a celestial book, meaning that it contained power. Well, all books did, Aziraphale corrected himself. But this was power, in bold italics. It was, specifically, the power to bring peace. It didn't contain words, but a glowing, ever changing image of the constellations, that shifted in accordance with the sky they travelled under. 

So Aziraphale promptly turned his attention back to Al-Idrisi. He knew all there was to know about the stars, yes. But wordsmiths, they had a thing or two to teach him. They way they took the constants of human life, the loves and the losses, and turned them into variables; an endless cycle of repetition that never once felt familiar. So no, he never chose the books about the build and make of the universe, but the ones about how the humans related to all of that. The ones about how they felt.

Feelings. Lucky, that angels did not have to deal with those. Otherwise he might have felt exasperated by Raphael's airs. By his poise, this act of pretending to be a seasoned, wisened angel where he was merely a day older than him. The way he talked down to Aziraphale because he happened to _ like _the humans. 

He possibly could even have felt that he would have been a better advocate for humans, given they had his sympathy. And that would have been foolish, and proud. If Raphael told him once, he told him a thousand times how his incessant, enthusiastic blabbering about humans' _ love _, its presence in their food, art, poetry would never amount to much in the face of the cold, hard logic of God. How does the smell of pastry, baked fresh for the ones you hold dear would fair, when pitted against genocide? Which one weighs more, the sanctimonium of true love or the inherent blasphemy of a crusade?

'You sound like a native when you talk about these things.' Raphael pointed out and he never could respond anything to that because"_ you say that as if it's a bad thing" _was not an acceptable comeback. 'It will do you good, being away from this place.'

Yes, emotions were dangerous and he was glad that he didn't have them, otherwise he would have felt a traitorous pang of disappointment at that thought of having to return to Heaven, as a reward, after completing their momentous task. 

He cast his book aside with a frustrated sigh as he realised, he was reading the same paragraph for the fifth time without actually remembering any of it. Yes, he was excited to see Syracuse, because it was going to be the last city he ever visited. He was going to drink in as much of the sights, the culture that they would last him for an eternity. Now he was just going to drink as much as he could, he decided, as his enthusiasm soured. "What would your supervisors think of this" was his least favourite and most frequent thought. 

As he was coming up from below the diving bell of his distractedness, he suddenly heard the utter ruckus above. It was the cacophony of screams of horror and wild, victorious cheers. And above all of that, he heard the unmistakable sound of swords biting into swords, the distinct clinging of blade meeting blade. There was clearly a fight going on and he was glad to join, relieved to have found a way to channel his pent up frustration. 

He exploded on the quarterdeck with sword drawn out and ready to brawl. The crew of their ship, clad in blue and gold, was seriously outnumbered by a ragtag bunch of seaman. They were pouring on their vessel from a dhingi, leeching on them byways of planks and ropes with hooks. He took one of the pirates out, relishing in the familiar dance of a duel. He turned to his next opponent, not even flinching as his blade opened flesh, drawn blood. Angels believed that the ends justified the means, that some commandments could temporarily be ignored if it served the greater good to do so. They weren't all halos, harps and hallelujahs. They believed in weapons and even in killing the enemy, if necessary. Fight wasn't alien to him and he was good at it. And he would have lasted longer if a familiar figure didn't distract him momentarily.

He stepped on the boat with swagger, like he was pulled by some ropes attached to his hips. His signature snakeskin boots made him identifiable in any crowd. Aziraphale instinctively took a step towards to greet him. That was when the base of swords struck his temple and made him topple on the floor. Two men were immediately on him, forcing his arms back and they probably would have beheaded him on the spot if they could. But their wrestling caught Crowley's attention and he subtly signalled his men to hold the violence for a bit.

'You still fight like an old lady.' He commented, watching the bleeding Aziraphale by his feet with an expression that was almost tender. He looked as if he found the idea of a fighting angel eternally amusing. 

'Crowley. What are you doing here?' 

'I'm working. You?'

And with that he turned and made his way below deck. _ The Book _, Aziraphale belatedly realised. He shook his captors off. Nobody thought of following him. It took only the smallest bit of miracles.

He caught up with Crowley on the narrow flight of stairs. They were almost pressed into each other, the space was so tight.

'What happened to you?' He whispered at the demon. 'Where have you been?' 

Last time he saw Crowley he was sprawled out, naked, moaning and sweating profusely on his bed. The memory made him blush. 

'I had stuff to do. Places to go. Things to steal.' Crowley answered, elegantly ignoring the subtext of the question, avoiding Aziraphale's gaze as he made his way down the stairs. 

The the cargo hold was bathed in the supernatural light of the Book. It was sitting on a small pedestal. It was impossible to miss. In hindsight he wished they'd placed it in an unassuming crate, instead of turning it into an item of worship. Crowley whistled, as he took a look up close.

'We need to talk.' Aziraphale said, with urgency. He had no idea how long he had alone with Crowley, before Raphael came bursting in. But the demon simply ignored him.

'The Book of Peace. I've heard about it. I've read about it. But I've never actually seen it.' 

'It's my job to bring it safely to Syracuse.'

'Well, I hate to break it to you, but you are going to get fired,'

'Are you serious? You disappear for a century, then show up to rob me?' 

'It sucks that it had to be you. Karma's a real bitch. But…' Crowley shrugged. _ Can't be helped _.

'We had an Arrangement.' Aziraphale reminded him. 

This made the demon look at him, first time since the beginning of this conversation. Quick as a flash, he stepped up to Aziraphale, with truly inhumane speed. It was a reminder of his reptilian nature. 

'You broke the Arrangement first.'

'Me? How?' 

'You know what I mean.' Scoffed the demon.

It suddenly dawned on him.

'What? By saving you?'

It was true. After an encounter with a profound amount of holy water, Crowley was left to die, burnt almost beyond salvation. But Aziraphale couldn't abide by that. The sheer amount of paperwork! So he took Crowley in his sheltered, temporarily Raphael-free, little house. Placed the foul fiend on his own bed, letting his irritated skin breath; he was so badly covered in boils, the angel couldn't even place a thin sheet on him to hide his nakedness. Clothes, bandages were out of question. Fever was squeezing every drop of moisture out of the demons body, so Aziraphale made him drink, gently holding his head. He made soothing noises, but mainly for his own benefit, to mask Crowley's moans of pain. This went on for a month, at the end of which the temptress disappeared without a word of gratitude, only to avoid Aziraphale, to this very day.

'The Arrangement simply stated that we'll let each other know, if something cataclysmic was about to happen. It was intended to bring some balance. A bit less thwarting, a bit less tempting. It didn't give you the right to…'

'What? To nurse you back to life? To save your ungrateful hind?' Asked Aziraphale indignantly. Saying it out loud made the penny drop, finally. 'Oh. You are not going to steal the Book. Not from me. Because you are _ indebted _!' 

'Don't be naive.' Crowley scoffed. 'I don't play by your rules.'

Aziraphale had something to say about that, but never got the chance to voice it. With a bestial, pained moan of metal and wood the boat swayed violently sideways. Aziraphale was forced to brace himself on Crowley. The demon lent a hand instinctively, supporting his nemesis' stocky frame. Upon realising what he was doing, snatched his hand back, even more agitated then before. Tremors shook the vessel's body, originating somewhere around the forecastle. Something seemed to be trying to tear the boat in half. 

'The Hell…' Crowley muttered and he headed back, argument and Book forgotten, relieved to be able to put some distance between the angel and himself.

Aziraphale trailed after him, only to find that the doorway was blocked by what looked like a giant tentacle. Crowley drawn his cutlass out and sliced pulsing tube of muscle in a half. There was a mighty shriek and the owner of the suckler covered feeler, a giant squid - like creature tightened its grip around the boat, cracking the main mast in the process, tearing off the winged female statue of the figurehead. All over the deck the people who fought against each other were now attacking the Kraken, side by side. The slimy beast's head, the size of the ship itself, was hovering where the main mast had been. A horrible, prickly tongue shot out from its beaked mouth and scooped up anyone unfortunate enough to be standing nearby. 

Aziraphale was scanning the deck, trying desperately to find Raphael in the confusion. He finally spotted him in the forecastle, balancing precariously on the bowsprit, trying to gain better access to the creatures underbelly with his sword. Half of his face was covered in a purplish swelling, a result of the earlier fight, presumably. Aziraphale started towards him, turning to invite Crowley to join, only to find that the demon was at the port side, ready to board his own ship. 

'Are you running away?' He shouted after him. 

'You are busy.' Crowley gestured at the Kraken. 'I'll stay in touch.' 

He whistled to gain his crew's attention and motioned them towards their dhingi. In that very moment one feeler of the agitated monster shot out in a wild spasm and crashed into the side of Crowley's vessel, pushing it a few miles out the open see. The demon stared at it with disbelief, than turned his attention at the Kraken, forehead crumpled in an angry frown.

'That's it.' The demon declared. 'Time to make some sushi.' 

He jumped back on board and before long he was mounting the mizzen. Halfway towards the fighting top he whistled at Aziraphale, indicating with his head that he wanted the angel to do the same. 

He hesitated, as in the forecastle Raphael finally spotted him and was waving, urging him to join. But it looked like that Crowley might actually have a plan, so after some initial indecision he ran to the foremast and began climbing. They finally stopped at the level of the topgallant sail. Down below the creature, tired of the poking and prodding of the sailors in the forecastle, heaved it enormous body towards the main of the hull, pushing past the foremast, right below Aziraphale, making the whole structure creek alarmingly. It was crashing bodies with its massive mass, miraculously sparing Raphael in the process.

Crowley, in the meantime, made his way to the starboard end of the topsail and cut the rigging. The sail dropped on one side and the spreader was now hanging right above the head of the monster like a giant spear. The demon began to make his way back towards the portside rigging. He balanced on the narrow spreader with agiliti that had more to do with his supernatural origins than with talent, routine or ability. Aziraphale caught up with the plan by now and mirrored Crowley's action so by the end two oversized spears were hovering above the Kraken like Damocles' fabled swords, held by only a pair of precious little rope. To Crowley's sign they both cut the ropes and the spreaders came crashing down, piercing through the creature's brain. Its limbs continued to flail and wave for a while, then all movement subsided and the monster, finally, perished. Both crews began to cheer.

Crowley and Aziraphale started down, crawling alternately on the rigging and the masts. Hopping on the deck the demon made his way towards him, grinning wildly, clapping him on the shoulder.

'Well done, old boy.' Aziraphale said, almost laughing out loud as the adrenaline in his body was still high. But his face fell when he spotted Raphael stepping near and similarly, Crowley's smile was erased as he felt the cold steel of a blade poking his back. 

'Step away from Aziraphale, foul creature.'

'Raphael' the angel began. 'there is no need…' 

'This serpent here can only be after one thing.' Said the archangel gravely.

'This serpent here just saved your life!' Crowley hissed.

'You saved _ your _ life. We were merely the collateral damage.' 

'Raphael, can we talk?' Aziraphale begged.

'_ Can we talk _?' Chortled Raphael, but without amusement. 'The least you can do is explain why are you fraternising with the enemy.' 

Raphael silently commanded a group of soldiers to eye Crowley, then stepped on the side with Aziraphale. Crowley's pirates stood still, cutlasses limp, but ready for fight when they got the signal, facing the angry syracusean crew indifferently. Crowley motioned them to wait and stay put. He wanted to make sure that the angel wasn't in trouble before he made his escape. But, judging by the heated conversation between the celestial creatures, he feared that he'll have to abandon ship anyway, leaving Aziraphale to face the consequences alone.

He looked at the giant lump of dead fish that covered the majority of the hull. His victory soured, he sighed frustratedly. It may not have been his original intention to save Raphael, but he would have appreciated a grain of gratitude, nevertheless. 

Only because he was eyeing, what he supposed was the corpse of the Kraken, did he spot a tentacle shooting up. It flew out, directly towards Aziraphale. But it never reached the angel, because Crowley ran past his captors and pushed Aziraphale out if the way, so the tentacle grabbed his midriff instead. The Kraken came to life with a shudder and heaved his body in the ocean, dragging Crowley below the surface with him. 


	2. On the side of the goddamn angels

Sinking was a lot like falling, the only difference being that with sinking the journey was more lethal than the destination. 

Despite his best efforts, he could not free himself from the deadly embrace of the Kraken. His air was running out, his lungs were burning so when he first spotted the dark shadow in his watery grave, he thought it was his dying mind's creation. 

It was like a great drop of ink in the water, a sprawling, black presence, that slowly began to turn into something more defined, the shape of a man of terrifying proportions. 

Lucifer, in his human form, possessed an extreme, brutal beauty with features so perfect, it was almost cruel. He was watching his drowning servant with his icy cave of eyes. Then with his unsettlingly arousing, perfect Cupid's bow lips he blew a bubble, the size of a small chapel, that encompassed Crowley, just as the Kraken finally released him. He fell, heaving, to the surprisingly solid floor of the little air pocket. In front of him, Lucifer materialised, in a much more mortal scale this time. He was present, but ever changing, uncertain around the edges, like a great billow of smoke, but of a much oilier quality. When he spoke his deep baritone reverbated in Crowley's insides. 

'Is petty theft your idea of spreading Evil, demon?' 

'Great Beast. To what do we deserve the honour of having you on this plane of existence?'

'Let me paint you a picture. I had a promising day, as I set my plan to get the Book of Peace in motion, but an incompetent little shit made a blunder of my scheme and managed to kill my Kraken, my beautiful abomination, forcing me to leave my dimension. I've destroyed demons for much less than that so you better have a damned convincing reason for me to keep you alive.'

'I don't suppose a heartfelt apology would do?'

'If I found out that you are capable of anything heartfelt, I'll increase your troubles tenfold. Well? I'm waiting.'

'I uh.., I've actually. I've just saved the angel, guarding the Book.' 

'I am pretty sure that the demons, responsible for skinning you alive over and over again, will find that titbit very interesting indeed.' 

'Wait. No! You don't understand. The angel, responsible for the safekeeping of the Book of Peace is in my debt. He is my ticket to Syracuse. And when I'm in, I'll get the Book for you.' 

'Or. Consider this. I destroy Syracuse, recover the Book from below the pilages myself, cutting out the middlemen and enjoy the melody of your screaming for a small eternity.' 

'Yeah. You could. But why go in all that trouble when I can waltz right in? You wouldn't have to lift a single, perfectly shaped finger.' 

Lucifer thought about it. Sloth was a sin, after all.

'Very well, Crowley. You'll bring me the Book, prove that you are still useful and it's not worth torturing you to death only to revive you and start again, forever and ever. When you are through, find me, beyond the horizon. And don't you dare showing up without it.'

'Thank you for your generosity, Prince of The Damned. Much appreciated.'

Lucifer made a little, dismissive wave with his hand. 'Where were you before I so rudely interrupted? Oh yes, you were drowning.' 

The bubble around Crowley suddenly dissolved and seawater came, flooding in. But without the shackle of a heavy tentacle, Crowley had no trouble swimming back to the surface.

He broke out to the open air, and immediately a hand grabbed him, by the flank, helping him in a small lifeboat. It was his first mate, Kale, accompanied by two crew members and they all appeared profoundly relieved to see him. Looking up, he spotted the syracusean royal fregatt still hovering and realised that in reality, he spent much less time under the waves, than he felt he did. He could even see Aziraphale, still wrestling Raphael, who was holding him back from jumping in the ocean, to rescue Crowley.

'Hey, angel!' He bellowed.

Aziraphale spotted him, and immediately relaxed. Behind him Raphael looked even more stern than before and Crowley could hardly hold back the childish instinct to stick his tongue out at him. Meanwhile they made their way back on board of the  _ Bathsheba _ . The crew resumed to its usual work, only Crowley remained by the portside, under the pretense of squeezing seawater out of his long, red locks, when, in reality, he just wanted to watch the royal fregatt as it turned towards Syracuse, slower than before, but trailing steadily with its remaining sails. 

'I guess that's it then.' Kale nonchalantly announced. 'Shall we make our way to Tortuga, captain?'

'No. Need I remind you of the plan, that involved stealing the Book?' 

Kale lifted an eyebrow inquisitively.

'Yes, but that was before.' 

'Before what?' Crowley snapped. 

'Before you called that man _ angel _ .' 

_ Shit.  _

'You concern yourself with taking us safely to Syracuse, Kale.' He said coldly. 

The first mate, recognising an order when he heard one, left his captain's side.

Aziraphel ducked out of the noise and heat of the ballroom, walked out to the large balcony, that opened to the sea, and leant on the balustrade, admiring the view. He had to use a miracle to discourage everyone from following him, as seemingly the whole population of the Twelve Cities was present and they all wanted to shake his hand and congratulate him on his successful mission. While he felt anything, but celebratory.

Raphael promptly joined him. Miracles didn't affect him and he probably couldn't imagine that anyone about to be sent back to Heaven could feel morose or would want to be reclusive. He did look a bit uncomfortable though. They had quite a big fight aboard, there clearly was a bit of tension left between them. 

'That's where it is now.' He said amicably, pointing at a tall tower to their east. It looked a bit like a lighthouse, with its inside bathed in supernatural brightness. 'The Book. It's the humans responsibility to protect it now.'

'Oh they'll take care of it, I'm sure. They spent years preparing for the Book. There are guards on every level of the Northern Tower, and if you look up to the…' but he quickly stopped himself as Raphael clearly wasn't listening.

Here they were again, talking at each other, but not to each other. And Heaven was going to be a whole eternity of this, with a lot less quiet solace and a lot more scrutiny. So he had to give it one last try.

'I would understand, you know.' He said softly, still appearing to admire the tower. 'You find my service inadequate, my company tiresome. If you were to suggest that I am not to return to Heaven, I wouldn't blame you.'

'I am more convinced than ever that you should be leaving this dimension behind. You became exactly like them, shunning your duties to follow your passion.'

'I am trying my best to stop the spread of Evil!' 

'By stopping the advancement of Good?'

Aziraphale had nothing to say to that.

'It's all good and well, loving humans if that helps the Work. But I think a little reminder of where your loyalties lie is long overdue for you.'

With that Raphael stepped closer and gently lay his hand on Aziraphale's forearm as it rested on the balustrade.

'And as for your company, I…'

In the background a gasp spread through the crowd like a ripple on water.

'Stop, in the name of the royal guard!' Somebody shouted.

Then, in a familiar voice that made Aziraphale's heart skip a beat: 

'This is what happens when you use the front entrance.' 

Whatever Raphael was going to say had escaped him as he turned and marched up to Crowley. Aziraphale followed him closely, only to be overtaken by King Dymas of Syracuse.

'What is he doing here?' Dymas demanded from the guards.' What are you waiting for, why aren't you throwing him out? Ord did you imagine that he was on the guest list? Crowley, the most ruthless thief of the seven seas?'

Aziraphale did a double take. Crowley was infamous now? Clearly he was too cocooned by power and privilege, too busy making small talk at balls like this if the demon could have become a widely known pirate without him having an idea about it. 

'I came so your advisors can properly thank me for having saved their life.' Crowley announced, standing in the door, reaching over the threatening swords, to point at the celestial pair.

'What' Dymas turned to Raphael, seething with anger. 'is the meaning of this, ambassador?' 

'I invited him.' Aziraphale hurried to offer an explanation 'As a show of gratitude for he saved not just us, but the Book of Peace today.'

Crowley cockily lifted an eyebrow at the king.  _ See? _

'He did what?' Dymas whipped his head around, to glare at the angel. 

'Excuse us, King Dymas. Aziraphale what are you doing?' The archangel hissed in his subordinate's ear, stepping closer to him.

'I'm trying to advance our cause. Turn my other cheek. Be the bigger person. Is that not the right thing to do? Besides, if he's here, enjoying the free food, getting sloshed, at least I know what he is up to. Otherwise, who knows, he might just try to steal the Book. Again.' 

Raphael's annoyance dissipated somewhat with something close to approval flashing in his eyes.

'Fine. But you don't take your eyes off of him.' He said, turning away, offering some explanation to the king. 

Dymas was still going to protest the demon's presence, but fortunately the Manolian ambassador chose just that moment to walk up to them, clearly fuming about some minor disagreement. Raphael rolled his eyes. Even with the Book and the armistice in place, the fight was never ending. He ushered the king and foreign dignitary away to chastise them.

Aziraphale nodded at the guards, who let their swords down, allowing the pirates to file in. 

'You've heard the fine gentlemen.' Crowley threw his arms in the air, turning to his crew. 'Go dine, celebrate. We are guests of honour.'

'And you?' Kale wondered.

'I'll have a little talk with Aziraphale here.'

Kale's brows rose an inch, suggestively. Crowley, making sure that the angel can't see, mimicked some universal signs of bodily harm at Kale, implying what was to happen if he said a word.

The angel lead him to the balcony. Crowley's attention turned to the tower immediately. He let out a long, appreciative whistle.

'Impressive. A proper fortress. Makes it damned hard to steal the Book, doesn't it?'

'That' Aziraphale smiled to himself. 'was the intention, yes.'

'I'm still going to take it, you know.' 

'Crowley, you can't.'

'I'm not asking for your permission. I'm giving you a heads up. Sorry angel, but my side will promptly drag me back to Hell, unless I deliver the Book.' 

'No, you don't understand. Your side was too efficient. The war's been lasting forever, wearing God's patience thin. Raphael designed the Book as a tool and a symbol of peace and goodwill between the twelve nations and it's the only reason why God's not unleashing the Apocalypse now.'

'No wonder Lucifer wants to get his clawed hands on it.'

'Lucifer wants the Book?' Aziraphale gasped.

'Came to take it himself but then decided to delegate the job to me at the end.'

'And will you…' It was a delicate moment. He knew that, depending on the answer, he could end up smiting Crowley on the spot. 'What are you going to do?'

Crowley looked at him, considered just what to admit to, then shrugged. 

'I am not unleashing the Armageddon. Hell no. This is a good age to be a demon in, full of fast boats, clever crooks and loose woman. Eternal damnation is too much hassle for my taste anyway. Feeding all that hellfire, doing all that torture, full on boring busywork. The Book is to stay where it is.'

'Your side won't be pleased.'

'Rebellion is in my job description. What about yours though? Are you going to tell Raphael about any of this? He's a stickler for the rules. It could be risky.'

'I won't tell him.'

'You'll lie?'

'I won't tell him. I couldn't, he wouldn't understand. He is a tad too conservative. You and I, we are a bit more…'

'Alike?'

'Invested in humanity's best interest, let's say.' 

'It's natural for me. I am a demon. I was made to break the rules. But you should be a bit more by the book.' 

'All angels are by the book. It's in our nature.' Aziraphale sounded almost worried.

'That's not strictly true.' Crowley shook his head. 'Take, for example…'

'You.' Aziraphale interrupted in a sudden epiphany.

'...you.' Crowley finished the thought. There was a moment of silence, then:

'I do follow the rules.' Aziraphale cried out.

'I am no angel!' Crowley protested.

'You were, once.' 

'That was a very long time ago. And  _ you _ gave away your sword.' 

'That was also a long ago.' However, it still made Aziraphale hang his head in shame. 'She should have banished me for that.' 

'No She shouldn't. It was too selfless and kind. Demon's don't do kind.' 

'You are a demon and you are kind.'

'Will you please stop saying that? I have a reputation to maintain.' Crowley scolded.

'But you are!' Aziraphale insisted. 'You are prioritising humans over yourself.' 

'I am supposed to root for the underdog. And you are confused. Mislead by that stupid euphemism. 'Fallen Angel". I am a demon. Nothing angelic 'bout me. Etch that in your brain.'

'I don't know. I get the impression sometimes that you not half as bad as you pretend to be. What you are doing right now is actually quite selfless.'

'I am in it for myself. If my side was to rule, the bureaucracy would be one Hell to pay. Me, I like a bit of creative freedom. Or just freedom, full stop. And the only way to maintain it, is to delay the Apocalypse for as long as possible.'

'Funny how similar your life sounds to mine, sometimes.' Aziraphale chuckled without mirth. 'I envy the humans. Not having to follow either side's orders.'

'Careful, angel. Envy is a sin. But I get it.' Crowley sighed wistfully. 'What would you do? If you were a bit more like them?'

Aziraphale's attention immediately turned towards the horizon, beyond the balcony.

'Oh, I don't know.' He said unconvincingly, staring dreamily at the wide world, stretching out below them. 'You?'

Crowley kept looking at the unaware angel as he said, softly. 

'I have a few ideas,' 

Then he shook himself, like he was waking from a trance and clapped Aziraphale's back.

'I'd better get going. You might not hear from me for a few centuries. I'll have to lay low until things blow over. Luckily the Ursa Major should be lovely this time of the year.'

'What happened to rebellion being part of your job description?'

'Well, the powers that be are supposed to decide who to rebel against.'

'Oh dear, it involves an awful lot of following rules, this being a freedom fighter.'

'Don't get cocky, angel.' Crowley grinned.

'Sorry. And Crowley. I just wanted to thank you.' Aziraphale allowed some of his worry for the demon to worm its way in his voice and let a hint of his sadness show too. He didn't tell Crowley it was his final goodbye; it's not like they were friends! But he was going to miss thwarting the demon, all the bickering with Crowley. Even that was almost nice. 

'Don't mention it.'

'All the same, thank you.'

'No, literally. Don't mention it.'

'I know, I know. Your reputation.' Aziraphale emitted a little laugh, as Crowley began his exit, walking backwards for a few paces.

'See you around, angel.' He saluted.

'Take care!' Aziraphale waved.

He watched the pirates leave, almost as soon as they arrived. A few of them were hanging back, stuffing delicacies in their pockets and Crowley's gigantic, muscular first mate was busy having an urgent conversation with his captain before they ultimately left the party, willingly if in an ever so slightly disappointed manner.

Aziraphale sighed, running his hand through his hair. It probably already looked like a messy nest full of soft, white feathers anyway. He straightened his sleeves and smoothed his toga. He spent enough of his last night on Earth brooding already. He had a lot of catching up to do on the drinking front.

He started towards the exhausted looking Raphael, straining to see a servant bearing alcohol. A shadow fell on the room and naively he thought that it was simply the Sun, setting, disappearing behind the horizon. But the faces of the guests standing next to him twisted into an expression of terror. Glass shattered somewhere. Aziraphale looked back to see what they were staring at. 

The tower stood darkened. 

The Book was gone.

There was a man, standing in the crowd, searching the ballroom, seeing it on more than one plane of existence. He was attractive in a powerful, destructive kind of way, like a dying star. He had a long, sparkling sheet of dark hair, that spread over his immaculate, white clothes. He was beautiful, the same way a shark is; his perfect, functional deadliness made for an alien kind of beauty. Everyone saw him, everyone noted his unholy perfection; no one in the right mind would think of approaching him. No one remembered his presence later on. 

He watched what transpired in the ballroom but saw much more than hand gestures and talking mouths. He saw Raphael straining for a genuine connection, his need in plain sight like an effort of muscles. He saw Aziraphale's whole demeanor opening up around Crowley, his face giving off a barely disguised happy glow. And he saw that Raphael saw too. He noted a clenched fist, a grinding jaw. He saw a taint, a sin, a tiny slit, an opening of doubt. 

He can work with that. It was almost too easy.

Lucifer left the ballroom the same way he entered it; discorporating into a thin film of smoke. Allowing his molecules to be carried on the wings of the air, he used the most subtle of dark miracles to rearrange his sacrilegious materials on the top floor of the Northern Tower, where the Book lay, opened towards the skies, reflecting the stars that floated above it. But as he corporated again, he chose a different shape. Wavy, auburn locks in place of the dark ones. Unmistakable snakeskin boots. Remarkable, yellow eyes. He appeared to the two guards, wearing Crowley's face. He killed one of them instantly. He allowed the other one to run for his life; he needed witnesses. Then he stepped to the Book. He lifted it gently, supporting the binding with two perfect palms. He raised it above his head, towards the sky. A gesture of open mockery.

'Let there be chaos.' He whispered. 

And he closed the book, cutting the flow of light and disappeared into the void, along with it.

Anger, thirst for revenge, violence, it all would have been heartwarming for the demon if it wasn't for it being done to him. The two guards pushed him on the ground, on his knees, forcefully bowing his torso towards King Dymas.

'Crowley.' Thundered the King. Gone was the aimable rich patron persona, an iron fisted leader sat on the throne, in his place. His steely righteousness was forged in the heat of his anger. 

'What is this all about?' Crowley demanded with far more authority than he actually had.

'Silence.' Roared the king.

'Do you realise how serious this is?' He heard Raphael's voice and strained to see if Aziraphale was present. As always, he hovered by the archangel's side but his stony expression was alien.

'You've stolen the Book of Peace.' Dymas announced gravely.

'Look, I left the Book on your ship, and that's the last I saw of it.' He turned, shaking his captors hands off enough to look at Aziraphale, his only witness. 'You were there. You know the truth. You know me.'

'You've betrayed' Aziraphale's voice quivered 'us.'

'Argh. Not you too. Listen, this is how it works. First, I have to commit the crime. Than you can accuse me with it.'

A threatening smile played on Dymas' lips. There was some movement, shuffling, a distant clinging somewhere outside Crowley's line of vision, then the King's voice, barking an order: 

'Aegues of the royal guard, step forward.' 

They lead a blue, gold clad youth ahead, in shackles.

'Is this the man who stole the Book?'

'This is the man I saw in the Northern Tower. He killed guard Adrian. I… I did not see the rest. I left my post.' 

That explained the cuffs. Anyone who failed the protect the Book and lived to tell the tale of it, could count on being treated harshly. They took him away, his chains making a pathetic clutter along the way.

'How do you explain that?' The king challenged him.

Crowley wrecked his brain, looking for answers and at once, it dawned on him.

'Lucifer. He set me up!'

'Listen to yourself.' Dymas' voice was oozing with vitriol. 'I could not have been you, because the thievery was done by the Devil himself? Do you really expect us to believe this?

No. No he really didn't. But what else was there to say?

'We've heard enough of your lies. Crowley, for the last time, give us the Book.'

'How many times do I have to say it? I don't have it!'

'Very well, then. Syracuse and the Delegation of the Twelve Cities find you guilty of treason, and we sentence you to die. Take him away.'

Normally being killed and discorporating would have been a minor inconvenience, would have involved bribing some hellish clerks and filling out tons of paperwork to apply for a new body. But right now being sent back to Hell would mean having to face Lucifer and explaining why did he not steal the Book at the end, so he began to strain against his captors.

'I didn't do it!' He shouted.

While he pleaded for his life, the two angels stood, watching carefully. Aziraphale could not tear his eyes away from Crowley, seeing his desperation as a sign of sincerity. He was thinking, panicked, of a way of saving him and smoothing this conflict, while also, somehow, retrieving the Book.

Raphael, meanwhile was watching Aziraphale, his pained expression, his visible worry as he ran his hand nervously through his feathery, blond hair, anxiously clutching a handful of locks. He felt something harden in him. He felt something he didn't know he was capable of. It made him speak, this sinking, heavy new emotion, almost against his own will. The words fell away from him, tumbling out of his mouth, scattering around the room, lethal, like mercury: 

'Make sure you use holy water in his execution.'

He heard Aziraphale sucking the air in sharply with the loud gasp of someone who couldn't quite fill his lungs before being pushed back underwater. Crowley doubled his efforts to free himself, pleading more and Raphael could tell, that he was readying himself for a fight, he could sense that demon became desperate enough to shed his earthly disguise, to reveal himself as a Fallen Angel and unleash his hellish powers. But he wasn't concerned about that. He was a mere demon, Raphael was an archangel. He sent much worse things back to Hell. Instead he whipped his head around to look at Aziraphale, to see what he feared, an irreparable damage, a 'you' and an 'I' appearing where a 'we' or an 'us' used to be. Aziraphale met his gaze, then squared himself for something and stepped forward. 

'Stop!' He cried. 'I demand the right of substitution. Take me in his place.'

'No!' Raphael heard himself say, fear rendering his voice unrecognisable to his own ears.

'Ambassador, I…' the King began, but the angel interrupted. 

'Crowley says that Lucifer took the Book, and I believe him. Let him go and recover the Book.'

All noise and movement ceased in the room, but the obnoxious demon could not shut up.

'What? What are you doing?' He hissed at Aziraphale.

'You claim that Lucifer stole the Book. So steal it back. You're good at that.'

'Hey, look, I will not be responsible for your life.' Crowley protested, seemingly unaware that he was seriously undermining his own chance for survival.

Aziraphale just smiled at him, with a mournful, transcendent smile. 

'You would do the same for me.'

'No,' said Crowley gravely. 'I really wouldn't.'

'If Crowley is allowed to leave the city, he'll never come back!' Dymas voiced what must have been everybody's concern.

'Your Highness, Crowley either stole the Book, or he's telling the truth and it is with Lucifer. Either way, he's our only hope.'

'Aziraphale, you realize that if Crowley does not return, you will be put to death in his place.' King Dymas said, tone devoid of emotions.

The angel simply nodded.

'I understand.'

'He won't.' Raphael stepped forward himself. 'Dymas, you'll take me as a substitution and send Aziraphale on this quest with Crowley. This way, you'll have someone as leverage and someone keeping an eye on the pirate.' 

Dymas looked as if he wanted to make some exaggerated gesture, bury his face in his hands or throw his arms in the air, but he restrained himself. 

'So be it. Crowley has seven days to return the Book.' He signalled the guards. 'Release him.'

The soldiers let the demon go and stepped up to Raphael instead, laying their heavy, chainmail covered hands on his shoulder and arms. Pushing between them came Aziraphale, his angry expression softened by worry.

'You don't have to do this.' He shook his head sadly.

'Sacrificing yourself to save the demon is openly defying Heaven. You won't get away with it, a mere angel. I, a principality, might just.' He swallowed hard, then added. 'You better have damned a good reason to believe him.'

'Stealing the Book wasn't in his best interest. It's only ever the high ranking officers, princes of Hell, principalities of Heaven who want the war. Never the footsoldiers like Crowley.'

'That doesn't convince me. But it doesn't matter. I don't need to trust him. I trust you and that's enough.' 

Aziraphale reached out and held his wrist in his palm, gently. It was the first time in their thousand year relationship he held Raphael's hand. The archangel gravely wished that the circumstances were different. 

The soldiers began to motion him away, but he turned back to the angel and said with more bravado than he actually felt.

'Hey, and Aziraphale. Don't be late.'


	3. Between the Devil and the deep blue sea

With all attention shifted conveniently from him, Crowley had a chance to make his way for the balcony. It was the perfect place for take off, and he allowed his wings to appear, stepping on the balustrade, getting ready for a flight.

'Just what do you think you are doing?' He heard Aziraphale say.

'What I said I would. I'm going to the Ursa Major. Or even to the Alpha Centauri. Somewhere far away, is my point.' He answered defiantly, not even turning to look at the angel.

'And you'll let Raphael die?'

Crowley hopped down from the balustrade, annoyed.

'I'm not responsible for this mess. And I didn't ask him to put his neck on the line for me.'

'You're really not going to lose any sleep over this, are you?'

'Over what? What is the worst thing they can do to him? Discorporate him? Given that the Apocalypse is about to start it's probably the best thing that could happen to him, landing back in Heaven. You should probably do the same angel. Or you could even come with me. I'll show you a nice galaxy or two.'

'You were going to stop the Armageddon.'

'I tried. And I fucked up. Lucifer screwed me over and now this is all going to blow into smithereens in the final battle between Good and Evil and I am not going to sit tight to witness it.'

'It's not too late to stop it. We still have seven days.' 

'We might. We might not. I'm not risking it.' 

'Oh, you, you, untrustworthy…' Aziraphale burst out.

'You spoiled…' Crowley snapped back. 

'...self-centered…' came the angel's riposte. 

'...deluded…' the demon declared, thrusting his finger in Aziraphale's chest.

'...impossible…'

'..high-and-mighty…'

'...ungrateful, unbearable, egoistic git.' the angel ended his tirade. 

'At least I'm not repressed!' exclaimed Crowley.

'Repressed?! Repressed! I saved your life in there. You owe me one.' The angel said, in an indignant, prim and proper manner, before muttering something sounding suspiciously like " _ I'll show you repressed. _ " Turning on his heels, he was hurrying away, as if he had a plan or even the faintest clue on what to do next. As if the Book was just right around the next bend for them to grab.

Crowley growled, mainly, because it was true. He owed him one. He could feel the effect of Aziraphale's selfless act. A supernatural obligation like that held power. It was almost like a deal. It was tugging on his insides, like a hook, pulling him, against his better judgement, towards where the angel disappeared. He smoothed out his disguise, miracling his wings away. He had to run a bit to catch up with Aziraphale. He grabbed the angel, by the elbow, began to tow him, towards the main gates.

'What are you going to do, eh?' He scolded.

'I am going to get the Book.'

'Really? Why, have you got a plan?' 

'No.'

'Do you know how to find Lucifer?'

'No.'

'Even if you found it, would you know how to steal the Book back?' 

'No, but…'

'Than you better stick with me, otherwise you are not going to pull this off.'

'Crowley!' Aziraphale exclaimed, overjoyed. 'Thank you ever so…'

'Oh, do shut up!' The demon was unable to suppress a hiss in annoyance. 'When this is over, we are even.'

The angel did not say another word, but he did not stop beaming.

While Crowley bent over his maps, charting their journey, Aziraphale amused himself by taking account of the items in his cabin, this inventory of his travels and adventures. There were gold ornaments from Venezia. A framed mosaic from Pompeii. And… no, he couldn't believe that it was an actual ancient mummy from China. It would have been too fragile, he concluded, touching a finger lightly to a darkened rib. It immediately broke off, leaving little to no doubt about its origins. Aziraphale had read about all those things, he studies all those places, in folios, on maps, so he can negotiate expertly with leaders, but he'd never properly seen any of them. Lifting up a gold and pearl clad bra, souvenir from a Jamaican brothel no doubt, it dawned on him yet again; despite being alive for thousands of years, he lived so little. And now there were only about seven days left for the world and the chance to ever experience it was further out of reach than ever. 

The time constraint made his insides squirm with anxiety. It was befitting that the universe, made in seven days, would be undone in seven too. But despite all its neat symmetry, this fact left them in a rather inconvenient position.

'Are you quite sure that it wouldn't be easier to simply teleport?' He asked again.

'Well, if you feel up for the challenge of fighting Satan himself than you are surely welcome to just apparate in his lair, because a miracle yielding angel or the distinct demonic power of my humble self will surely attract his attention. Otherwise, we'll have to use the safe way, the back door. The one that the likes of Odysseus, Enkidu and the others so readily took advantage of. Sneak in, sneak out, quiet as a mouse.' 

'So you really think we can reach the end of the world and make it back within seven days?' 

Instead of answering, Crowley simply pouted and dropped his sextant on the table. Brushing past the angel he started his way up to the deck, but stopped abruptly when Aziraphale tried to follow him.

'Now, hold on just for a darn minute. What do you think you are doing?'

'I was going to help. Time is of the essence and you are sailing with a skeleton crew, due to the dangers of the journey. I am pretty sure that all hands are needed on deck.'

'Oh, surely you don't think a distinguished, celestial guest will be working on my boat. No, you'll be staying in your cabin, at all times angel. But cheer up. As you can see, we're well equipped to accommodate the most discerning of royal tastes.' He kicked in the door of a dark, web filled storage cupboard that was bare save from the pests and a bunk. 'We have excellent ocean views and luxurious living quarters, with three gourmet meals a day: pickles, eggs, and pickles.' 

'I can assure you, that I won't be a liability. I can pull my weight. And I am still an angel, with inhuman powers, I can work as much as your men, or even more.'

'You are right. You are still an angel. And as the world fills with demonic activity, I don't want to be hindered with having to constantly explain just what is the enemy is doing in my presence.'

'Just pretend to hold me hostage. Come on, if you feel the need you can even tie me up.'

Crowley planned to still argue, fully intended to reason further, but Kale chose that precise moment to enter the hull, getting the last sentence but not the context. A lewd smile spread on his face and he leaned against the wall, expectantly.

'Yes, Kale?' Crowley said through his gritted teeth. 

'Oh please don't mind me, continue as you were.' 

He threw his arms in the air in frustration and marched on the deck, tailed closely by Aziraphale and followed leisurely by Kale. He tore the bucket and the mop out of Jed's hands and thrusted them to the angel's.

'Make yourself at home.' He grumbled hurrying to adjust the perfectly tied portside rigging. 

Kale joined his play acting, pretending to help, the annoying grin never leaving his face.

'You've got something to say?' He barked at his first mate.

'Oh nothing really, just… "you can tie me if you feel the  _ need _ "? Do you want to fill me in on that?

'I would if there was anything worth knowing.' Hissed Crowley.

'Fine, you don't want to air the dirty laundry. Not with this one.' Kale held his hand up in a position of surrender. 'I get it. He is something special, I can tell.' 

They both turned to look at Aziraphale and while he was simply trying to mop, he seemed to a have a profound effect on the crew. All the work very nearly came to a halt, because the men were busy looking at the angel. Jin tipped an invisible hat at Aziraphale as he passed him, which made the angel smile. Jin dropped his actual task at hand immediately and started looking for excuses to walk past the angel and try and make him smile again. Luca, who must have spoken about five words to Crowley during their years of working together, simply planted himself in front of the blond man and began to chat, simple small talk, about the weather, the sea, the most efficient ways of mopping. And Rat, who for all intent and purpose, was supposed to be sitting in the crow's nest, was instead lounging on the main course spreader to get a better view of the angel. 

Crowley couldn't blame them. Aziraphale looked positively angelic without even really trying, blond hair glowing like a halo, offset by the sea, his beige robes appearing transcendent white in the bleaching evening sunlight, face looking like forgiveness and redemption itself. He looked like a literal ray of sunshine and fallen men like them, they needed the Light. 

He was glad to see the Sun finally dipping in the ocean, like a tired bather, as he was hoping that Aziraphale's benign influence will be less prominent in the realm of the night. Unfortunately, he was still emitting a supernatural glow, even by the light of the lanterns, but they reached the island of Tortuga in the meantime and his crew had no choice, but set to work on anchoring the ship.

'We are stopping already?' Aziraphale demanded anxiously, abandoning his mop and joining Crowley, who was at the helm, navigating the  _ Bathsheba  _ in the port cautiously. He chose to ignore the angel's nagging, but that was easier said than done. 

'May I remind you, that we have very limited time at our…'

'May I remind you, that you are travelling with a crew of humans, who need and will continue to demand, supplies and a chance to rest. If you are unable to cope with this fact, you are welcome to swim to the end of the world. It's not the fastest way to travel, but seeing that you are a divine being who needs no replenishment, you might be able to win a couple hours.'

The speech seemed to finally silence the angel, who even lend a hand after in carrying cratefuls of goods and barrels of freshwater in the cargo hold. But as the their task was finished, a restlessness came over the crew whom, by all means, should have been exhausted from the day's happenings. Crowley looked over them and knew immediately what they needed. He nodded at Kale and some of the other pirates, who seemed to understand what he implied without really being told. They began to finish up their work rapidly, while he stepped to the angel. From the corner of his eye he saw Kale edging closer, a shadow of worry on his expression. He must have seen how Crowley squared himself for a fight and was trying to be at the ready if things were to get out of hand. He was a damned good first mate. 

Aziraphale kept his word about pulling his own weight; after having carried most of their supplies on the boat single handedly, he now returned to mopping though Crowley doubted that he could tell if the floorboards were dirty through the thick blanket of darkness that covered them completely by now.

'Just so you know' he began sternly, not leaving any room for argument. 'I'm giving them a shore leave. It means that we are staying for the night and I'm don't give a damn about the time, I am not willing to change…'

'They are about to face a perilous journey. A shore leave will be good for morale.' Agreed Aziraphale quietly. 

'Yeah. Well. Right you are.' All the anger he built up to defend his position had no purpose, no outlet all of a sudden. 'So. I'm leaving you and Luca on guard duty tonight, until we shall return.' 

'Oh. Why of course.' Suddenly, Aziraphale looked positively miserable, his sunny complexion clouded by barely disguised disappointment. 

'Yes, we are going to a brothel, so what?' Crowley was almost happy to find some resistance. 'I knew you wouldn't approve, but…'

But looking at the angel made him forget his trail of thoughts. It's not that he was disapproving, Crowley realised. He gazed at the land, at the shitty little shantytown longingly, eyes caressing the frames of the derelict buildings. Hearing the demon's uncertain pause he caught himself, almost visibly shook off the vulnerable expression.

'Captain's orders. I understand.'

'It's just a common whorehouse, angel, not the Topcapi Saraj. You know the type.'

'No, I don't, how would I?' Aziraphale looked almost shocked by his own passionate outburst, covering his lips with his fingers momentarily. 

'You've never been to one.' Crowley concluded, amused. 'Not even to do a bit of reconnaissance?'

'I was doing real work.' Aziraphale answered, prim, indignant. 'Helping Raphael with negotiations, making peace treaties, conducting armistices.' 

Crowley grinned, a hungry grimace. 

'Hanging out in high courts and ballrooms. What a waste of a perfectly good millennia.' He purred, leaning in the angel's personal space. 'All the while this place was practically bursting with corruption.' 

'Oh. Well, if you put it this way.' Aziraphale traitorous hand had the audacity to clasp his toga over his heart and really, there was no backpedalling from there

'Listen, I don't actually need to come.' he was pleased how horrorstuck the little innuendo made the angel look. 'I only ever go for the sake of appearances, because, let's be honest, there is enough temptation already in there. You could, of course, try to thwart a little.' 

'And you would be okay with that?' Aziraphale frowned, suddenly suspicious of Crowley's obliging manner.

'I said you can try. I never said you will.' He raised his voice, addressing his crew now. 'I mean, I may not know much about Heaven, but I assure you, it doesn't compare to the groin of a tortugan prostitute.' 

Jin emitted a hoot.

'True words captain. The latter is much better.' 

Hot laughter spread through the crew like wildfire.

'See. My job here is all done, but I'll have a laugh watching you try thwart that.' 

'I accept your challenge, fiend.' Aziraphale raised his head in a mock pose of pride, then let the pretense fall away and squeezed Crowley's arm with the gentlest smile. 'Thank you. It's really kind of you.' 

_ Goddamnit. _

Crowley pushed even closer to the angel, noses almost touching, snarling, voice a mere growl. 

'Don't say that.' He demanded.

But the angel didn't look scared, a bit taken aback maybe, though he quickly resumed from his initial shock. But he didn't back away, as Crowley expected, or pushed back. His breath came in short, hot puffs on Crowley's face. He was still except for his blue eyes that wondered searchingly over Crowley's features; now the angry brows, now the flaring nose, now the lips only inches away from him. Crowley wondered how he did he end up beaten in a game he was so clearly winning, wondered what it meant that he didn't actually mind. 

The soft noise of Kale clearing his throat broke the serenity of the moment. Peering over his shoulder Crowley saw his awestruck crew watching them. He nodded, urging them to go, hoping to distract them with the chance to fornicate in flea infested beds with moth-eaten Jezebel's, but as the crew was filing to land, Kale stepped to the captain.

'You told him to go.' He gestured towards Aziraphale. 'And you are planning to stay, all cooped up.'

'I am not his keeper. He does as he pleases.'

'You just let him walk to the demon's den. Unsupervised.'

'Do I look like a chaperone to you, Kale?'

'I mean I thought you were supposed to return him in one piece. Unspoiled.' 

'He's not my responsibility.' 

'I sure hope that the Ambassador feels the same way.' 

_ Oh for God's… for fuck's sake.  _

'Kale.' Crowley hissed. 'You are not to leave the boat tonight.'

'You are welcome.' his first mate leaned on his shoulder with a shit eating grin.

'Oh, fuck off.' 

He still had Luca to instruct, so he shook the chummy Kale off. Talking to Luca went well, the seasoned, old sea dog took the decision in his stride, declaring that he had enough lewd adventures during his time, not putting up any protest. Then he trailed after Aziraphale, gently guiding the hesitant angel by grabbing his elbow. 

Funnily enough, having the angel at his side elevated his mood somewhat. He didn't have a high opinion on the town, of its rat and rubbish filled crooked streets, of its hate and greed leaden crooked inhabitants. But the ancient dwelling seemed to appreciate Aziraphale's admiring eyes, appearing to have regained some of its old romance. There was perfume in the air and the soft, warm glow of colourful lanterns made the prinicks of cool, white stars stand out. Somewhere out of sight a woman was singing softly, humming a sea shanty with utter sincerity, beautiful voice quivering at the parts about the sailor's lonely bride. The brothel beckoned them with its heat, noise and light and they were ready to give in to its pull.

They started by occupying a table by the bar, because everyone wanted some liquid courage to soften the reality of the fact that despite the sweet nothings they whispered to them in the heat of the moment, these women never were and never will be theirs to keep. Aziraphale was sticking out as usual, like a diamond dropped in mud and three waitresses fought for the privilege of serving their table, just to get close to him. One retrieved a wreath of tropical flowers from somewhere and put it around the angels neck. One got a cup of quality absinthe and placed it front of Aziraphale, ignoring his order of common grog. The third one simply grabbed every opportunity to touch Aziraphale, smoothing a crease on his sleeve, running her fingers through the angel's hair, along the line of his jaw. Strangely, there was no passion in these gestures, they were merely awe filled acts of worship, as if deep down she realised that she was touching salvation itself. Aziraphale just sat there beaming, thanking each turn of kindness, remaining blissfully unaware of being the cause and the source of all the generous attention, thinking that it was merely part of the varied services of the institution. He took a sip of his emerald drink, frowned and subtly miracled it into something less heady. The little pantomime made Crowley smile in his cup. 

The company of pirates slowly dwindled as they each found a companion for the night, until finally it was only the demon and the angel left at the table. Despite not doing much, Aziraphale was clearly enjoying himself immensely. He slowly swayed with his body to the rhythm of the music, provided by a punch drunk accordionist. He smiled at everyone who passed their table and raised his cup with oblivious happiness to two horny men a table across who were trying to beckon him to join them. The wine that he was drinking clearly made an effect by now.

'I get the impression that you don't always see eye to eye with Raphael.' Crowley began, when he judged the angel to be sufficiently tipsy for such heavy topics.

Aziraphale protested. 'I'm still learning. I learned so much from him already.' 

Crowley didn't say anything, just raised an eyebrow, knowing that nothing would draw the truth out as successfully, as silence.

'It's just' Aziraphale continued, staring at his cup which he began rolling back and forth between the palms of his hands. 'that I do not have quite as keen an eye for the greater good as him. Take Gomorrah. I begged him to spare the place, but in retrospect, I agree that we are better off without it. It was a thorn in Her side and She calmed down a great deal afterwords.'

'Gomorrah was Sandalphon's handiwork.' Crowley protested.

'He carried it out, but it was Raphael's orders.' 

'I should have known.' Crowley shook his head. 'Sandalphon could never conceive such an original plan.'

Aziraphale chuckled in his cup, which made him turn red with guilt. His ability to blush at everything was going to be the undoing of Crowley. He took a swig of his grog and got rid of his dark glasses.

'So, to put it simply, you tend to fight in vain to save the humans, while all he cares about is pleasing God.'

'Pleasing God  _ is  _ saving humans.' Aziraphale pointed out.

'Tell that to the folks in Gomorrah.' 

Aziraphale sighed. It's not that Crowley was right, he really wasn't, it's just… Well, things weren't that simple.

'Shame about that town.' Crowley was eyeing the bottom of his cup, marvelling on the mystifying lack of grog in it. 'It was a fun place.'

'So I've heard.' Aziraphale agreed with a shade of bitterness.

'But you've never been. And neither did Raphael for that matter. Yet he felt he was apt to be the executioner of all those people.'

'It was for the greater good.' Aziraphale repeated, staring at his drink, sounding almost as unconvinced as Crowley. Then he took a large gulp of wine, hurriedly, in the manner of someone who had some serious doubts to drown. 'That's why Raphael wants to focus on politics. You can achieve more that way.'

'Achive what exactly? Genocide? You know this Raphael sounds like a right old asshole to me.'

'He is everything an angel can aspire to be.'

'Is he though? Really? I mean how dare he judge humans or declare what's good for them if he's never seen one up close?'

'We've been working with humans for eons!'

'In political meetings. What does that tell you about them? Up until now you didn't even remember that they need food and rest.' 

'I studied the humans.' Aziraphale's soft complaint in his voice made him sound unsure of his own reasoning, like he was apologising. 'I speak all of their languages, every conceivable dialect…'

'Doesn't count.' Crowley interrupted. 'We all have the gift of speaking tongues.'

'..I know everything there is to know about the etiquette of every single culture and…' 

'And, let me guess, you could recite the yearly produce of crops for each and every country. Big fucking deal. I'll let you in on a little secret. The reason why my side is so damned good at tempting is because we took our time to get to know them. You can't steer humans off the righteous path unless you know what makes them ticking in the first place.'

'I read.' It came out almost as a hiccough, like the angel was a bit ashamed of the fact and just wanted to get it off his chest as quickly as he can 'Poetry. Journals. In order to get to know them.' 

'That's a start.' Crowley admitted distractedly as he was busy trying to find someone who could fix his alarming alcohol situation. 'Or you know, you could spend some time with them. If you weren't so busy shadowing Raphael all the time. Why don't you just go and have a little of those much needed adventures sometime?'

The cup he was toying with jumped out of the angel's hand, spreading ruby gloubles of wine in every direction. Aziraphale busied himself with clearing, his uptight manners clearly loosened by the drinks consumed, as he simply used his white shirtsleeve to mop the liquid. He continued to rub at a dry spot as he began to speak, so Crowley couldn't properly see his expression, but the nonchalance in his voice appeared to be a bit forced, a pitch higher than necessary.

'You probably don't remember, but when archangels, like Raphael were created, they were given some special benefits. They were all provided a partner, a kind of second-in-command to accompany them and help them with their often dangerous and demanding missions.' 

He finally looked up, expectantly, like he was waiting for some kind of evaluation of the matter at hand from Crowley, but it was the demon's turn to go evasive. Sighing in frustration he conjured some rum in his cup and focused the intense, serpentine attention of his gaze on it.

'And you are Raphael's.' He finally concluded.

'I was made for him.'

'Wherever he goes, you go.'

'Whatever he does, I support him.'

'Even when you don't agree?' 

'I wasn't created to question him.' 

_ Tsk. _ Crowley leaned back, hooking his arms behind the back of his chair, bearing his chest almost challengingly. 

'Then why  _ do _ you?'

Aziraphale sucked the air in sharply, hands ruffling his already messy scalp, staring at the knotted, stained wood of the table. He peeked at the demon, from behind the shelter of his forearms, resting on the table. Crowley was flashing crooked half smile that said -  _ hey, Fallen Angel here.  _ Was it the smile, urging Aziraphale to confess more, or the drinks? It was hard to tell. Ultimately, it didn't really matter, because two courtesan's chose that moment to ambush him, giggling wildly, dragging him to his feet and away, to the back of the building. 

'It's your chance. Get to know them, angel!' Crowley shouted after him teasingly, knowing fully well that the angel would not, could not sin. Then, propping his glasses back on, he allowed his head to loll on his chest. He cleaned his bloodstream of alcohol. His relaxed expression turned morose. It was a mistake, coming here tonight. The heat in the building suddenly felt unbearable. Ears too attuned to the sinful, he could make out the various, obscene moans filling the air. With skin itching, he stood, his body following the drag of his narrow hips as always. He made his way to the door. Normally he would have cared more about appearing human and would have at least slept a couple of hours in a harlot's room, as he considered sex, much like eating, too messy and insufficient to worth bothering with. But tonight he just wanted a gulp of fresh, saltine sea air. 

But as he stuck his hand between the rows of beads, hanging from the doorframe, he felt a wild shock. Pulling his wrist quickly back, he crouched to look closely and discovered a thin line of salt on threshold and black, smudged sacred runes scribbled hastily on the doorframe with charcoal. He stepped to a window with heavy worry solidifying in his guts. He found it similarly defaced. The walls suddenly seemed to be leaning in on him. The patrons of the brothel all appeared otherwise engaged, with two couples busily straddling each other and looking as if attempting to consume one another in opposite corners of the saloon. But someone was very clearly trying to trap a demon in here.

He hurried to the back of the building and kicked in the door of one of the various private rooms only to curse loudly immediately after. Of course it had to be him. Aziraphale was sitting on a bed, with a dark beauty kneeling between his legs and…

'Angel, for fuck's sake.' Crowley exclaimed. 'Are you  _ healing _ that women?' 

Aziraphale snatched his hands back guiltily, from where they were resting, on the top of the temptress' lustrous head of hair.

'These lovely ladies are riddled with so many nasty illnesses.' he mumbled. 'And I am a healer.' 

There was a flock of whores in the room with him, perched on the bed, waiting for their turn. They all began to protest Crowley's presence, mainly because it distracted the angel from the task at hand. The demon ignored the screams and screeches and marched to the heavily draped window, moving the curtain slightly. He peeked a look outside. There were groups of men, busy hoarding wood by the walls of the brothel by the light of torches. Some if them were pouring tar over the piles. They were talking in whispers, making barely any noise.

'What's going on?' the hot breath of the angel on his ear almost made him jump out of his skin. Looking over his shoulder, Aziraphale was trying to find out what was happening.

'They are trying to kill me.' 

'Kill... How do you know it's you they are after?'

Crowley pointed at the protective charms on the windowsill. 

'And even if I made it out alive, those barrels at the back are probably filled with holy water.'

'You know your side should have kept this vital piece of information with the holy water under the wraps.'

'It's your kind who peppers it in every time they strike a conversation.' Crowley protested indignantly. 

'Who are they anyway?' Aziraphale asked peaceably. 

The demon sighed.


	4. Holy fool

'I made a deal with a sailor a number of years ago. He wanted to be immortal and was willing to sell his soul for it, so I obliged. I may have omitted to mention that he was never to set foot on land again in order to live, until it was too late.'

'And now he's here, thinking that killing you will make the contract void.' 

'Which is fucking ungrateful of him. It was good deal, the best you can get from a demon. He could have lived as long as he wanted and get out by simply sailing to shore. The problem with humans is that they don't want to deal with consequences.'

'Or he just wants to give you a taste of your own medicine.'

'I know that it would make your life easier, having one less demon who tempts, but at least don't gloat for Hell's sake.'

Aziraphale grabbed his shoulder and turned him around, looking him in the eye as best as he could, through his dark glasses.

'I don't want you to get hurt.' He said forcefully but without anger.

'Than better think of something because they are lighting the fire.'

An orange glow illuminated the heavy curtains from the outside.

'Oh Heavens. The humans!' Aziraphale's whisper was light as a feather. He spun on his heels and ran out of the room, bellowing "fire", hammering his fists on the doors.

People appeared in the door frames in various stages of undress. The air filled with screams and shouts and Aziraphale nearly got trampled by the savage looking, semi nude crowd as they filled the saloon and escaped in any and all the ways imaginable. Crowley followed him to the bar and watched with calm almost amounting to indifference the fattening flames and the smoke that was rapidly filling the room as the last guests scrambled for their life.

'He's not that cruel.' Aziraphale exhaled. 'He may have trapped you but he didn't want everyone to die.'

'Yeah.' Crowley added miserably. 'Isn't he a peach?'

'As for us, well there's got to be something to put the fire out with.' 

Aziraphale spun wildly around. He inspected the roof, but it was already consumed by fire, so they couldn't fly through there without lethal consequences. Finally, he picked up a half empty jug of beer and sloshed it on the flames that were greedily licking the bottom of the nearest wall, making no difference whatsoever. Crowley, meanwhile, pulled out a chair, turned it around and straddled it and began to empty the cups that were only partially finished.

'There is no us, angel. I reckon it's about time you've left if you don't want to be inconveniently discorporated.' He gesticulated wildly with his cup. 'The salt and the runes won't affect you. You can just walk right out.'

'Abandoning you wouldn't be too divine now, would it?'

'Funny, that's not how I remember it.' 

Giving up even the pretense of trying Aziraphale pulled a chair out and invited himself to sit with Crowley as the building around them went ablaze.

'I wouldn't even if I could.' He sounded a bit throaty, probably from the smoke he inhaled. 'I need you.'

'No, we need one of us alive or nothing's standing between humanity and total elimination.'

'But, as you pointed out so rightly, I don't have the skills, nor the resources to...'

'Cut yourself some slack, angel. You are a competent divine creature.' Crowley waved his hand in the air, the affection on his voice only thinly veiled by exasperation. Or maybe he was exasperated by feeling affection. It was hard to tell with Crowley . 'Do what you are good at. Negotiate. You can always go back to Syracuse to tell Raphael it's either you or the Apocalypse.' 

'It's not his decision. And anyway, you see, for an ultimatum like that to work you would need something actually important for him to be at stake.' 

Crowley peered at him over the frame of his glasses.

'Ouch. Is trouble that grave in Paradise? I had no idea.' 

'No, you thought that when God made me as Raphael's significant other, She would have moulded me in a way that pleases him and not to seem like an irksome fool to him, but She sure works in mysterious ways.' Aziraphale sounded unusually angry, but it was unclear if it was himself or the Plan he was fed up with. 'It should be easy enough, carrying out the sole purpose of my existence. '

'I don't know.' Shrugged the demon. 'You are expected to display this unfaltering awe and adoration. It's hard. Definitely not my forte.'

'It's as you said, he is only with me out of his desire to please God and not because… well _of_ _desire, _for lack of a better term. And it shouldn't matter. But it does to me.' 

'No. You fight. That's different.' Crowley said, pushing an unfinished cup of liquid courage towards the angel. When Aziraphale took it he turned his attention to his fingers, tracing the quickly evaporating ring of condensation the grog left behind. 'We disagree sometimes. Doesn't mean I don't like you.' 

'We are arch enemies. We are supposed to fight. Oh, Heavens.' Aziraphale buried his face in the palm of his hands in desperation. 'Just goes to show the kind of angel I am, that I feel I have more in common with my nemesis than with my superior.' 

'You are the best kind. This must be why you were assigned to Raphael. Only the nicest person in creation could put up with with an incorrigible asshole like him.' 

Aziraphale looked up from behind his fingers and this time Crowley held his gaze. He felt a sinking, spinning feeling that he could conveniently blame on the smoke inhaled, but was almost definitely caused by the demon. He was going to say something, fugitive words marching towards his lips, with something resembling a death wish but he got distracted by a silhouette, manifesting itself in the flaming doorway. Coughing and cursing, the prostitute Aziraphale healed earlier staggered in the room. 

'Follow me!' She shouted at them and walked to the drink stall. She began to push the heavy cupboard and soon enough the two supernatural entities were by her side, using their inhuman powers to heave. Bottles of grog were toppling down on their heads as the cupboard, along with the wall behind it, began to turn on his hinges.

The secret little storage space it revealed was on fire, just like the rest of building. But it had a narrow window near the ceiling, too small, really, for a person to use. That is unless said person could turn into a snake. 

'Give me a hand, angel, would you?' Asked Crowley and began to shift shape without waiting for an answer.

Aziraphale reached down and lifted the large boa that appeared in the demon's place. He was surprised, as always, by how dry and warm the snakeskin was despite its wet and oily sheen. He heaved Crowley on the ledge and was relieved to see that while being thorough in every other aspect of his plan, even the immortal pirate did not think to cover the tiny envelope of this window in salt and spells. 

On the other side, Crowley began his inelegant descend towards the ground and by the time he hit it, he was in his human shape again. Growling, because his landing wasn't exactly cushioned by the dry, hard surface, he rolled on his side, unsure, but hoping that all his bones were intact. He pushed himself upright in the careful staccato of a man who was hurting all over. Nothing in him seemed permanently damaged, so he finally took some time to weigh his options. This side of the building, having no meaningful escape route to speak of, wasn't guarded. He knew that he should take advantage of this fact, that he should slip away among the shadows and regroup with the others on board of the  _ Batsheba _ . But he left Aziraphale in a burning building just after having allowed himself to be indebted to him. Again. To Hell with the angel's obsession with salvation. So he inched as close to the flaming walls as he safely could and turned the corner carefully, only to walk straight into a blade, held out expectantly, at neck level. 

Standing right in front of him, was the very man he tried to avoid. The fact that he hasn't changed the slightest bit in the last century or so, was a testimony to their satanic deal. Yet.

'Damian. You here?' He croaked, backing away.

'Who else would it be, Hell bent on your destruction?' 

'It's not such an exclusive club.'

'No one is quite as determined as me, I assure you. I had a lot of time on my hand, to mill over my vengeful plans. Learned a thing or two. Like how to permanently destroy unholy creatures like you.' 

'But seeing that you are standing on dry land, maybe we could just forget all about it, don't you think?' Crowley pointed out.

Damian laughed with childish delight.

'Oh, I relish the feeling of solid earth under my boots. The curse must have been broken, given that you are practically dead already. But I will finish what I began because being free is not a pleasure I intend to give up.'

'When I die, you will too.' Threatened Crowley. 'The years you so carefully avoided will come rushing to meet you and you'll turn to ash right in front of the watchful eyes of your pirates.'

As if on cue, the armed crew have arrived, two of the mightiest of men carrying a sloshing barrel of holy water between them. Crowley's throat contracted at the sight, like he was a rabid creature. Yet the dubious frown of the captain filled him with satisfaction.

'You are bluffing.' He accused the demon, carefully taming his voice so it didn't sound like he was questioning.

'It may be so.' Crowley nodded, turning from Damian to keep a watchful eye on the holy water. He did notice the many cutlasses also drawn at him, but was momentarily more concerned about the sacred forms of destruction. 'Ask yourself if you are feeling lucky though, asshole.'

He got a clear enough answer, when two pirates began to close in on him, inching closer in a wide circle, one on each of his sides. He tentatively swung a fist at the stoky, bearded one of the pair, so he raised his sword and pushed it towards Crowley's neck, which made the demon back directly into the bone crushing grip of the other, taller mercenary, who's melon sized bicepses were the canvas for many detailed tattoos. The arms closed around him and he was being dragged towards the barrel, so he threw his head back and judging by the fact the pirate immediately released him, with a yelp, to cradle his nose, and blood was dripping from behind his fingers, he must have broken his nose. With an irritated growl another man, a gangly guy, thin like a length of rope, stepped ahead, lazily waving his cutlass towards Crowley, who dodged the vague movements with reptilian agility. But prancing around like that made him step close enough to the tattooed pirate again and that bloke was after revenge. His grabbed a fistful of Crowley's hair, drew his head back, exposing the demon's neck and pushed a dagger next to it. Crowley couldn't help but obey, when the heavily inked giant made him walk towards the barrel once more. The bearded little pirate stepped up to them and delivered a punch in Crowley's guts. He bent over in pain, and as his muscly captor was reluctant to withdraw his blade, he made a tiny incision on Crowley's neck. He felt blood dripping down on his skin as he was forced upright and towards the barrel again. 

Aziraphale chose this moment to arrive. Making inelegant, panting noises, the angel came running from around the corner of the building, shouting between two gulps of air, demanding the pirates to stop. He was covered in soot, his toga was charred and the harlot was still tailing him and he looked miraculously unharmed. His presence made Crowley feel a whirlpool of contradicting emotions he didn't know he was capable of; he was glad to see the angel in one piece, annoyed that he would chose to walk straight back in danger, relieved to have an alley and desperate for him to leave should anything happen to him. He could see, twisting his neck as much as the blade next to it would allow, that a small group of pirates turned their back on the sight of his execution in order to deal with the angel. This made him twist in his captors hand with renewed vigour and he began to shout.

'Release me, Damian, or you shall feel the wrath of Hell!'

It was a threat that could have worked if it wasn't for being made on the wrong end of a blade. But precisely as he said it, the entire island shook under their feet.

'Holy shit.' Muttered Crowley. Can it be, that the powers below had his back for once? The tremors made the burnt out brothel next to them collapse, sending a cloud of ash and sparks towards the sky. As the earth continued to rumble beneath them they had to struggle to stay upright. Seizing the opportunity, Crowley pushed his bony shoulder in the tattooed giant's chest, tripping him, and in a desperate attempt to soften his landing the pirate threw his hands in front of him, releasing the demon. Crowley began to run, his legs skidding, toppling on the floor several times because the shakes and tremors were worsening. Aziraphale waited for him, hand outstretched, dragging him upright when he lost his balance again on the last few meters between them and simply never let go as they began to scram for their lives. They were running towards the harbour, between dangerously swaying buildings, loose roof tiles showering and exploding around them.

'That's quite enough, don't you think?' Aziraphale shouted over the rumble, the cacophony of destruction.

'I'm not doing it.' Crowley admitted. 'I don't think.' 

And as he looked back to see if the enemy was after them, he was greeted with the sight of the ground opening wide to give way to something that looked, insanely, maddeningly, like an eye. The dark void of a pupil was surrounded by a red ring of an iris and it was filled with the horrible indifference of an alien intelligence as it followed Crowley. All around them the ocean seemed to be retreating, but in reality, it was Tortuga rising out of the foams. Like two peninsulas, two giant flippers appeared on both sides of the island and a monstrous carapace was emerging, rising above the horizon like a dome shaped mountain. The brothel, the shantytown, the entire settlement have been built on what appeared to be a titan of a turtle and was now being torn apart either by the tremors of the ancient body rising or the turbulent waves. The  _ Batsheba _ bobbed dangerously about between the neck and the nuchal shell of the abomination. All sails were pulled as the crew was busy preparing the ship for a speedy escape. Crowley and Aziraphale, already exhausted, doubled their speed to reach the dhingi on time. They almost literally flew through the marina and they were helped, dragged and heaved on board by several pairs of hands and as soon as they touched the timber of the boat it began to move, as the crew pulled the anchor up. 

'Wait!' Crowley shouted suddenly. 'The harlot!' 

He could remember seeing the women, their saviour, next to Aziraphale earlier on, but he lost track of her in the chaos of the earthquake. He felt the angel's hand on his shoulder. 

'She'd been taken care of.' Aziraphale reassured him and he was too flushed from running to tell if he had blushed. But it was obvious that the Jezebel, along with all of her colleagues, was transported to a much calmer place. By miracle. 

'How can something like this exist?' Aziraphale asked, distracted, leaning over the sideboard to get a better view of the grotesquely large turtle. 'I thought all monsters were abolished at the flood.' 

'This bastard would have survived the flood. But this is not God's doing. This abomination is a sign of the Apocalypse. Reality is fraying at the edges, the laws of nature cease to apply. Monsters like this will be an increasingly common sight.' 

'We woke him with the fire.' Aziraphale guessed.

'Doubt it. For a big bugger like this that would have been a mere mosquito bite. No. Monsters, like this creature or me, can already feel Lucifer's call and you will too, soon enough.'

'His call?' Aziraphale asked, horror struck.

'The universe will rapidly shrink, returning to a single point the same way it emerged from one. Everything will be pulled to Lucifer, the destroyer of the world; rivers will cease to flow the right way, stars will start falling from the sky, our compasses will be useless as Satan will be the only meaningful direction.'

Aziraphale was suddenly looking about him, frantically. Spotting what he was searching for, he snacthed up a lenght of rope, laying abandoned on board and hurried to the bowsprit. Crowley watched this flurry of activity, uncomprehending. Aziraphale tied the rope to the bowsprit, then, gathering the end of his toga in one hand, climbed on it. He lowered himself on his hands and knees and began to crawl ungainly across the length of the timber. He hopped in the ocean from the jibboom, pinching his nose between his fingers primly. With his beige robe floating about him, he swam to shore. Trudging clumsily on land, the angel hurriedly tied the rope around a scale.

Behind Crowley the panicked crew was lowering a lifeboat without their captain's instructions or a permission. The man were stampeding to get in there, to be part of the rescue team and by the time Aziraphale finished his business on Tortuga, they were well on their way to pick him up. 

Everyone who wasn't involved in retrieving the angel tried to assist him with getting on board and they all hovered around until they made sure that he was safely back on the ship, only returning to their respective positions when they made sure that there wasn't a single hair out of place on the angel. The chuffed looking Aziraphale joined Crowley on the portside.

'What the Hell, angel?' He demanded, gesturing at the rope, stretched out between them and the turtle, tying them firmly to the very monster they were trying to escape.

'Patience.' Aziraphale chastised him. 

And alas, a moment later the humongous flippers began to move, creating waves that would have made the biggest tsunamis pale in comparison. The Batsheba shot forward, bowsprit complaining under the strain of the pull, people losing their balance from the sudden movement. Crowley fell on his knees, only to be up a moment later, leaning over the sideboard, howling to the wind, elated. They were moving so fast, they sliced the air around them like a blade. Aziraphale smiled to himself, a tad surprised. He had no idea that Crowley was so fond of speed. He'd never even seen him near a horse; it gave him the impression that the demon's approach was more of the slow but steady type. The childish delight on his friend's face made him ache suddenly, unexpectedly. He had these fits of despair, often in moments of supposed victory; on Har Sinai or watching the Red Sea as the waves quieted after their violent parting. Seeing the demon's pure, unadulterated excitement gave him the same kind of unease; he knew everything was according to plan, but the fact didn't elevate his mood, in fact, had quite the opposite effect. 

'That was bloody genius!' Crowley declared, turning back to him interrupting his morose thoughts. His red locks were flying around him like a shock of red banner and his eyes, lit up with excitement, made a nice contrast with their amber sheen. 

'You are welcome.' Aziraphale, unable to repress a hint of pride in his voice, turned his attention to his soaked toga. He tried to squeeze some water out of it, glad for the pretence of concentration, for the excuse not to look at Crowley. 'And will you please stop calling yourself a monster? For me, if not for your own sake. Tempting and sin is what you do. It's not who you are.' 

Crowley didn't say anything to that as he couldn't shake the feeling that something was lodged uncomfortably in his throat, pressing on his voice box, making the forming of a comprehensible answer impossible. 

'Whatever you need to tell yourself, angel.' He grumbled finally, feeling explosive, self destructive. He composed himself and struck a more serious note. 'But what will happen when this bastard decides to dive under?'

'Have you got a blade I could borrow?' Aziraphale asked and five pirates ran to him up, offering a variety of knives and cutlasses. Aziraphale accepted Kale's and positioned himself firmly by the bowsprit, ready to cut the cord connecting them with their testudine ride.

They travelled this way for two days, covering vast amount of sea, before the turtle decided to take a dive towards the depth of the ocean. At the end, even the most experienced pirates were glad that they could stop sailing on the turbulent waves as everybody spent the last two days and nights struggling with persistent nausea. 

'Who's idea was this?' Aziraphale asked, approaching Crowley at the helm, clutching his stomach, but smiling mischievously.

'I don't know, but he owes me lunch.' The demon responded, not so secretly pleased with their clever shortcut, despite the inconveniences. He gestured, with his chin, towards an expanse of land ahead of them, that stretched out the entire length of the horizon, with only the narrowest channel down the middle of it. 'The Dragon's Teeth.' 

Aziraphale sucked his breath in. 

'I've read that only the most foolish sailors would dare to sail a ship through it.' 

'Or the most desperate ones.' Crowley suggested. 'The kind that doesn't have weeks to travel around it.' 

An anxiety of the most potent kind was suddenly running through the crew, livening everyone, like an electric current. Crowley was shouting commands at his men, as they arrived in the narrow canyon.

'Get the long poles, Luca! Rat, reef the fores'le!' 

Aziraphale looked about at him, not even attempting to help the more skilled man. Even he, despite his inexperience, could see just how dangerous the tight opening was. Treacherous rocks filled the perilously shallow pool of water and all around them eviscerated carcasses of ships lay on the cliffs. A shape of a female figurehead held the angel's attention for a long time as water was dripping from the statuette in a way that it made it look like the figure was grieving the deceased sailors of the past with bitter tears falling from her eyes. It looked so lifelike, the angel could have sworn he could even make out her soft, weeping voice. He strained to catch the noise again, but Crowley's imperious howl came cutting through the eerie silence.

'Jin, easy on the main.'

He saw movement, from the corner of his eye on board of one of the stranded ships, where all movement should have ceased a long time ago, but turning to look he could only make out the frailing sails swaying softly in the air. But there it was again, the echoey tune of the softest singing voice.

'Rocks off the starboard bow...' Rat shouted, words trailing weirdly off at the end of his sentence. 

'Kale, we need a pole over there.' Crowley gestured at the boat, but to his utter surprised, his first mate simply hushed him.

'Shhh…'

The men stopped working. They held their head high in the air, looking as if they were trying to catch a particular scent, but instead it was the singing they were after, that was clear and audible now for all of them to hear. It was a chorus of female voices at this point. They sang a worldless tune, full of little flourishes, making the soft, silver bell of altos rise and fall in the most attractive way. The crew gradually shuffled to the railings, seeking the source of the melody. 

And then, Aziraphale saw them. Figures, shaped like women but clearly not human at all, were rising on all the decaying boats around them. They had a perfect, iridescent beauty as they looked as if they were formed of clear water. You could best see their long, transparent legs, their perfect, see through bosoms when they moved around and they were crowding now, elegantly diving in the sea around them. All men followed their descent, hypnotized, except for Aziraphale, who was watching the bewitched crew and Crowley, who was still trying to navigate the ship amongst the rocks on the current that was getting steadily faster.

The captain cursed under his breath then announced, confirming the angel's worst fears.

'Sirens.' 

Aziraphale also wished he was allowed to swear, but there was no time. The pirates were clearly going mad with desire.

'Come and get it, ladies!' Luca shouted, freeing his emancipated, wrinkled body by violently tearing his shirt off. 

Aziraphale had to jump to him and drag him down from the sideboard. He practically threw Luca down in the hull and locked the door on him, only to turn and discover that several sirens were sitting on the railings now, luring the men closer. Lucky for him, Jin and Jed chose the same temptress to step to and started wrestling for her. This gave enough time for the angel to cross the quarterdeck, grab their flanks and drag them away. Using his supernatural strength and a tiny bit of a miracle he tied the two to the mizzen, using some loose rigging, but he still took to long. It allowed Kale to climb on the banister, preparing to throw himself underwater.

'Come with me. We'll speak of love.' He cooed, readying himself for a dive.

Rattling off profanities, Crowley turned the helm, trashing the Batsheba into a nearby cliff. The impact threw Kale back on the board and Aziraphale caught up with him, tying him with a length of rope well enough that moving was out of question for him.

Realising that their magic wouldn't affect them, the sirens decided to attack Aziraphale and Crowley. The angel could hold them at arm's length by simply muttering words of exorcisms. Sirens weren't called sea demons for nothing. Crowley, also burdened with the task of navigation, was struggling a bit more. He delivered some successful punches, as the watery nymphs turned out to be surprisingly solid and the pain made the sirens back away, hissing indignantly. But there were multitudes of them and the newcomers were fearless and it gave them a huge advantage that Crowley had to hold the helm tight, because every time he released it, the ship collided into the nearby rocks. So far they did not suffer any seriously concerning damage, but it was only a matter of time.

'A little help here, angel!' Crowley bawled as a siren sunk her sharp fangs in his biceps.

Aziraphale turned to him, but at that very moment, they both heard Rat's shout emerging from the main spreader.

'I love you! Il mare e le onde andiamo via!' and with that he took a swan dive from the mainsail and disappeared amongst the foaming, hungry waves.

Aziraphale locked eyes with Crowley in a moment of silent conversation. He saw steely determination on the demon's face.

'Oh God, no!' The angel whispered, but in vain. 

Turning on his heels, Crowley ran to the end of the deck and threw himself after Rat. The sirens were following him closely.

The Batsheba immediately began to stir off the safe path. Loose items were sliding across the board as the vessel leaned dangerously sideways. Aziraphale struggled to keep his balance as well, as he was trying to run to the helm. Not too far ahead he could see the end of the canyon and the open ocean, but it became uncertain if they'll ever reach it. Finally, the angel grabbed hold of the helm and turned it violently the opposite way. It made the boat lean too much to the starboard side and the foremast snapped in two as it hit the canyon wall. Blaspheming again, Aziraphale adjusted their course and held on tight as the ship tipped over a rapid, which appeared to have made his insides lift up in his throat. There were about five or six more cascades ahead, each one of them littered with rocks and Aziraphale had to struggle to stay on his feet so he could stir the vessel away from the fang like cliffs, ready to tear holes in the underbelly of the boat. 

Meanwhile Crowley was dragged further down, but neglected to struggle, as Rat was ahead of him, in the even darker depth of the ocean. Finally reaching his crewman, he attempted to scare off the siren, that was clutching Rat firmly in her claws. The pirate didn't look enamoured anymore, his face was scrunched up with primal fear as he realised his mistake, but couldn't save himself as the siren's prior passionate embrace turned into an iron grip around him. Crowley delivered a satisfying kick in the sea witch's spine, which successfully distracted her. She turned, releasing Rat, sinking her teeth in the demon's exposed leg. Crowley screamed in the waves, sending a curtain of bubbles towards the surface. He tried desperately to swim towards the unconscious Rat, but that was made difficult by a couple more sirens who latched on him, gnawing on his flesh, leaving very little doubt about just what they were planning with their victims. With about five bloodsucking sirens covering his body, he had to use his demonic fire to fend them off. The supernatural flames enveloped him despite being underwater and the scorched sirens retreated, moving like a disturbed school of fish, growling at him from afar. He was finally able to swim to his crewmember, pulling a sheet of blood after him as he tempoed and the enticing smell of the wounded prey must have been stronger than fear as the sirens began to close in on him again. By then he grabbed the floating Rat's and with that, he miracled himself aboard the Batsheba again. 

On the surface, Aziraphale successfully delivered the boat to the open ocean, with a final lift as they passed the last rapid. The remaining sirens that were still after them were crushed under the hull as the vessel landed into the calm sea below and immediately, the pirates came to their senses. They saw Aziraphale at the helm and broke into a cheer, but the angel had very little time to celebrate. He was flying to the forecastle where the soaked demon and bilge rat were laying in an unmoving pile. 

'Someone grab water!' He instructed the men around him as he untangled Rat from the confused demon's clutch. Fortunately, a few chest compressions revived the seaman and coughing violently, he began to vomit salty water up. Aziraphale turned him safely on his side and tended to Crowley, who appeared to be smoking as the salt began to work on his impure skin. Jin and Jed arrived with two pails of freshwater and Aziraphale instructed them to pour that over their captain. His breath hitched when he saw the water coming away pink as it mingled with Crowley's blood. 

'You are injured!' He concluded, worry raising his voice a pitch higher.

'It's nothing.' Crowley croaked, but the angel was already dragging him towards the hull and his clutch was on par with the sirens'. Recognising a losing battle when he saw one, Crowley shouted at Kale over his shoulder. 'I want a detailed damage report when I am back.'

Aziraphale hooked his arm over his own shoulder, supporting his weight and he leaned on him gladly as his calf was on fire where a siren's took a bite from it.

The angel took him to his cabin and lowered him on his bunk. He gestured Crowley to remove all obstructive clothing and conjured up a bowl of hot water and clean rags while the demon precariously peeled his black silk shirt off. He stood between Crowley's legs and began to clean the wound on his arm.

'You know you could just miracle them away.' Whined the demon because with the adrenaline draining from his system he began to feel the pain. 

'First I need to see what I am dealing with.'

'You were brilliant out there.' Admitted Crowley thankfully.

"And you were utterly reckless.' Snapped the angel.

He was clearly rattled by the events, fingers trembling as they held the demon's arm in place. He picked up the trail of an earlier conversation, as if to calm and distract himself.

'I didn't go to Gomorrah and I'm glad I never did because even from afar I could feel all the suffering. But when I remember it I always think; imagine how much dismay would have been there if the whole world was destroyed.' He couldn't look Crowley in the eyes as he continued to tend to a bite on his abdomen. 'It is imperative that we find and return the Book. No matter what we must sacrifice on the way, because the pain of our losses will not compare to the pain of losing the Book, the battle. But you ignored that today. You took the risk of destroying everyone by choosing to save one.' 

Crowley didn't say anything, because he felt that there may have been a grain of truth in this pep talk. He sure as Hell wasn't going to apologise, but thought that, just this once, he could cut the bickering to the minimum. 

Aziraphale finished wiping the blood away from his wound. 

'One could say that you took the concept of greater good and spat it right in the face.' He continued his previous train of thoughts. He placed his fingers over Crowley's injury, over his bony trunk, his wiry muscles, brows furrowed in concentration. 'And I loved that you did.'

Crowley hissed, but not in pain. It was a surprising twist to this chastising speech, the angel admitting that there were certain liberties only a demon would take and that he was grateful to demon's for taking them. He spotted the familiar blush creeping up along the angel's neck and suddenly, the touch of the his cool fingers on his feverish skin was almost too much. His blood was rushing as if he was in mortal danger again. When Aziraphale removed his hand, after what seemed like a brief eternity, the bite was gone. 

'The most ineffable part of the whole ineffable plan for me is how were you, of all angels, made to Fall.' 

Feeling reckless, Aziraphale was pushing a question he wasn't quite ready to outright ask. Unprepared to the outright answer, Crowley covered the angel's busy hand in his palms. His response was evasive, addressed to the last few inches of empty air between them.

'Sometimes I feel that I didn't really Fall as much as I am in the process of falling still, with new, yet unheard of lows ahead of me.' Admitted the demon in a small voice.

'Crowley,' whispered Aziraphale. 'can you hear it?'

The tattoo of his own heartbeat seemed so deafening that first he thought the angel meant that. But with some concentration, he could make out the faint noise of a hullabaloo. 

'Oh,' he smiled. 'you should see this.'

However he allowed the angel to finish his healing work first. Then he put on the fresh shirt that he summoned by a snap of his finger, while Aziraphale was mopping up the water he spilled and tried to collect the bloody rags he left lying about. Crowley interrupted him, by twining their hands together.

'Come, you'll like it.' He softly pleaded, dragging the angel on board.

An impromptu party was taking place in the forecastle. All lanterns were lit, as the sun was setting and they gave a jolly mood anyway. Jed was playing a violin, stomping his feet to the rhythm with vigour. Kale and Luca were dancing to the music and Crowley rushed ahead to join them. Aziraphale hung back safely with the others, who were still warming up to the festivities. He paused to listen to Li, as he was entertaining a small congregation with a very clearly inappropriate story of his shenanigans.

'...running for my life, as usual. A couple of angry thugs had cornered me outside the palace walls. I was trapped. A sword at my throat, at my chest, at my…'

'Eggs and pickle?' Another crew member thrusted a plate under his nose. The angel declined with a smile and shuffled away, bumping right into Crowley. 'Aziraphale! Everyone's waiting for you.' 

Undeniably, Kale and Luca were waving at him and even Jed urged him to join by means of jerking his head towards the dancers.

'Crowley, angels simply don't dance. It's one of the distinguishing characteristics that mark an angle.' Aziraphale blurted, panic rising in his chest. 

'Surely, you want Fall for doing the jig?' The demon was dragging him towards the others. Aziraphale found that he was unable to put up any meaningful resistance against the demon when he was so sincerely excited.

'I don't know the steps anyway.' He whispered, defeated.

'So make them up as you go along.' 

Truly, it wasn't the regulated dance of the courts, where a wrong move was a hazard and there was an insult in the way you held your hand. It was full of hops and jumps and wild waving of one's arms. It was the ancient, instinctive alchemy of the body; adrenalin seeking another outlet, endorphin finding an excuse to flow. Crowley dragged him on the floor, locked his elbow with the angel's and spun and lead him around. Forced to keep up with him, Aziraphale's steps soon found the dance's rhythm. Others wanted to join too and after a while he found that his other arm was hooked with Rat's, who was holding on the Luca in turn and so on, until nearly all crew members were dancing. In the general giddiness he forgot to be anxious and found that he quite liked dancing, despite its essentially crude, profane and mundane nature. 

Crowley ducked out of the dancing crowd, leaning on the balustrade next to Kale and Jin, who were enjoying a brief break themselves.

'So Kale and I were wondering' Jim extended their conversation to him. 'how is it that you and Aziraphale are the only ones not affected by the sirens at all.' 

'Ah.' He made a small, noncommittal noise. The explanation, naturally, was that they weren't men but celestial beings, mostly immune to the many human desires. But while revealing their true nature wasn't explicitly forbidden by headquarters, it was strongly discouraged and it meant a lot of unnecessary complication anyway. 

'Tell the captain about your theory, Kale.' Jim urged the first mate with a positively cheshire grin.

'Well' Kale sniggered. 'certain scholars suggest that the hypnotic song of sirens won't affect those who are already truly in love.'

'And this' Crowley rolled his eyes. 'is why I regret teaching you to read. How's that damage report going?'

'Aziraphale, miraculously, kept the ship mostly intact. I mean the foremast is an obvious goner. But other than that, it's some minor damage on the railing and the mouldings, that's all.'

'You mean the  _ hand-carved _ ,  _ mahogany  _ railing?' Crowley exclaimed in horror. 'The mouldings that we stole in  _ Damascus _ ?' Hell, no!

Agitated, he abandoned the celebration and made his way to the dark and empty quarterdeck. That's where Aziraphale spotted him, brooding. He immediately decided to join him and excused himself from the dance. When he reached Crowley, he was running his fingers over the damaged wood of the boat, affectionately, reluctant to turn his attention away, but looking at the angel nevertheless.

Aziraphale stepped up to him, smoothing his hair down; a self-conscious and entirely pointless gesture as it looked as much of a bird's nest as before. He was lovelier than ever, blue eyes highlighted by their excited twinkle, cheeks rosy with contentment, face scrunched in a timid, honest, bubbly smile. Crowley was aware that he must be staring at the angel, looking absolutely besotted and was sincerely hoping that the dark was helping to conceal his expression, but judging by Aziraphale's anxious mannerisms, it was all in vain.

'You know you make it look almost like fun. Being a Fallen, I mean. Based on my experiences, it consist mainly of going on adventures, hanging out in brothels, celebrating with humans and doing, generally, as you please.' 

'Don't be fooled.' Crowley's expression clouded. 'I had to do a lot of awful things to earn Hell's trust so they would finally grant me this kind of independence. You wouldn't enjoy this life, trust me. I didn't either, not at the beginning at least.' 

Aziraphale shook his head, as upset to hear about Crowley demonic duties as always.

'What could you possible have done to deserve this? The kindest, most compassionate angel. Please.' He held his hands up peaceably. 'Don't argue it.'

'I was questioning.'

'You've been banned for asking questions?'

'For questioning. It's not the same.' Crowley took of his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose, then with a sigh, began his tale. 'It happened on the second day. We were coming back from hanging some constellations and nebulas and I remember thinking, that's it, She really outdid Herself this time, there's no way She could ever make anything quite as strikingly amazing as these stars. And that's when I saw it, Her newest creation. I just couldn't stop staring at it, it was so beautiful.' 

'What was it?' Aziraphale asked, drawn in by the story.

Crowley held his gaze fixed on the angels eyes as he said, without blushing or flinching, with his most vulnerable, naked, raw honesty:

'You.' 

It was Aziraphale, so deeply moved, who couldn't hold the eye contact. 

'And that was the moment when I began doubt the entire ineffable plan, because I couldn't, I still don't, understand how could She have intended you for Raphael, when you are so clearly perfect for me.' 

'Crowley…' the angel looked up, with a pained expression.

Kale's shout came, piercing, through the music, the noise and the through the tension between the two celestial being. 

'Captain! Ahead of us!'

They were forced to turn and take in the sight, eyes and minds uncomprehending for a moment. Ahead of them, like a stage set, the ocean and the sky ceased to continue. The sea was toppling over the edge, creating a violent waterfall, waves disappearing into the void. The only thing visible in the dark nothing beyond the horizon was a shining, white slit on the fabric of the empty space. It was strikingly beautiful, considering it lead to Satan's realm.

'The end of the world' whispered Crowley.

Aziraphale swallowed, hard.


	5. Deus Ex

Frantically, the men were trying to turn the boat around, as it was edging perilously close to the abyss.

'Wait!' Kale commanded. 'The captain hasn't given his orders yet.' 

Crowley abandoned the quarterdeck, tailed by the angel. He joined Kale, offered his hand to his first mate.

'The ship is yours.' He announced.

'If you don't make it.' Kale suggested, but Crowley ignored him and turned to the others.

'Gentlemen. It was an honour, robbing with you.' 

Then, throwing all caution, all pretense to the wind, he conjured up his wings and so did Aziraphale. Amongst the awestruck exclaims of the pirates they took off and disappeared beyond the Gate of Hell.

They had to abandon their wings as they crossed, because it was miracle and it would have attracted unwanted attention. It was unfortunate, though, because the axis of the world shifted as they passed the Gate and they were suddenly freefalling. They both braced for impact as the sand covered ground came nearer, but their descend stopped unexpectedly just inches above the floor and they could safely stand without suffering any harm.

Crowley was right about Lucifer's presence distorting the rules of reality, because his realm looked simply unreal. The Underworld was like the seabed would be if you removed the ocean. There was an eerie light filling the place, but it had no source so neither Aziraphale nor Crowley had shadows, despite the perfect visibility. There was something off with the quality of light too, so all colours came out looking wrong somehow. 

The sand around them was in a constant state of motion. The dunes were chased by ethereal winds and they shifted, waxing and waning, like the waves of the sea. They slid down on sandy chute, as the earth rapidly eroded from under their feet and finally found solid stance on some rocky sediment that was revealed as the tide of sand retreated. There was a throne on the granite plane, carved out from the rock. As an emblem of futility, the skeleton of a deceased king, iron crown still brandishing his skull, sat on it. His toothy grin was frozen on his face for all eternity as he slumped, with empty, unseeing eye sockets beholding his desolate kingdom. 

'Oh, Heavens.' Aziraphale breathed and squeezed Crowley's hand symphatetcally.

'You've seen nothing. This place, Purgatory, is like the back porch. The real thing is far more crowded, for one.' Crowley sounded nonchalant but held the angel's hand tight.

Their voice must have triggered some alarm, because pieces of the sky began falling on them. Vast sheets of darkness floated down, pinned together by constellations, taking the shapes of celestial beast; Leo, the Scorpion, Cetus came charging at them, and they were barely smaller than the actual solar systems they embodied. Aziraphale bitterly regretted only having Kale's knife on him, but a sudden whirlpool of sand and wind snatched up the creatures before the actual fight could even began.

'Now, now, my pets. Is this any way to treat guests?'

A figure approached through the sandstorm. Lucifer was even more painfully beautiful in his element. The winds stirred and thinned the edges of his smoke-like body, but he also seemed solid and unchanging. His dark hair floated about him, as if he was walking underwater. Clasping his elegant, thin hand to his chest he smiled at them, his expression full of sincere glee. This wasn't the least reassuring.

'Bravo.' He greeted them with his reverbating, deep voice. 'Not many had reached this place before. Alive, that is.' 

He looked the demon up and down, eyes lingering on his hand where it was clasping Aziraphale's.

'Crowley. You just don't know when to stop rebelling, do you?'

'Lucifer.' Crowley was faking confidence he did not feel at all. 'We are here because of the Book of Peace.'

'Oh, about that. Well done. I was worried that you'll fuck up somewhere again, but no. Perfectly executed, really.'

Crowley felt the angel stiffen next to him. Was Lucifer trying to turn them against each other? It was his nature to twist anything that was sacred to you until it was unrecognisable.

'I didn't do anything.' He hurried to establish. 'It was all you. You framed me for the theft so they would execute me.'

'You?' Lucifer queried in an affected tone, head tilted inquisitively. 

'Raphael.' It dawned on Crowley

Lucifer, with one smooth move, pulled the Book out of thin air, holding it almost teasingly.

'Did you really think that this little trinket is shielding humans from total extinction?'

He simply released the volume and it landed in the sand with an underwhelming, mundane thud. It would have been so easy, to simply snatch it up, but should they try to do so, Lucifer would have made them pay for it. His modus operandi. 

'Oh, no. That's The Archangel Fucking Raphael, the last principality arguing in the human's favor.'

Lucifer disappeared, only to manifest behind them. It was his way of thoughtfully prancing back and forth.

'I've been searching for a way to turn him against humans, but no matter how lowly they became, his position was unchanging. Only then did I realise, that he never really cared for them to begin with. His motives lay elsewhere.' 

He turned his cold eyes on Aziraphale. Crowley instinctively stepped between them, shielding the angel from his hungry gaze.

'How, do you think, is his Holiness going to react when he learns that you moved in on his boyfriend? Whatever happens to Book now' Lucifer kicked some sand over it for emphasis. 'Raphael will be out for blood when he learns that Aziraphale betrayed him. And he can only have the satisfaction of revenge, if he unleashes Armageddon first.' 

'We've done nothing wrong. Aziraphale is here, trying to save him.'

Lucifer vanished, only to materialise right next to Crowley's ear. The demon stepped back dragging the angel with him.

'Don't pretend that you haven't been tempting him throughout your journey. Hard. To choose freedom over duty. To choose you over him.' 

He stepped between them, breaking the link of their joined hands. He planted himself next to Aziraphale, highlighting how safe and lovely the angel looked compared to his cutting, hard beauty.

'Yes, he is here to retrieve the Book, to save his principality. But it doesn't mean that he wasn't planning on handing in his resignation and sailing away to the sunset with you after.' 

Aziraphale hung his head, unable to meet his eyes. It should have been the sweetest thing Crowley ever heard in his life. It was just like Lucifer to make sure it soured before he had a chance to enjoy it.

Satan hooked his fingers under the angel's chin, forcing his head up. Crowley tried to charge at him, but the devil's power held him back as if he walked into a brick wall. Aziraphale stared, unflinching.

'I apologise for making you the unwitting executioner of your favourite species. I really wish there was another way, since you are so fond of them. But what to do if you are the only thing Raphael holds dear?'

The angel's mouth twitched but he did not turn away.

'And please forgive the demon. In his defense, he has been lusting after your sweet ass for a couple thousand years.'

Crowley wanted to say something, deny what was being said or rephrase it, so it doesn't sound so crude, but found that he was unable to speak. He couldn't tell if that was Lucifer's doing.

'He can hardly wait for you to Fall,' Lucifer continued. 'so he can do a whole bunch of sinful things to you. He thinks that's what love is. I mean, easy enough mistake to make. Humans do it all the time.' Lucifer chuckled without mirth, whispering at the angel as if he was sharing an intimate secret.

'He is such a broken demon, he forgot that he was incapable of noble emotions. But he can still tempt. Oh my, can he still tempt. That's the only reason why he is still alive, after this level of disobedience. That he's good at his job.'

And then Aziraphale, the kindest, bravest angel squared up to the Devil himself and said.

'You are wrong about him.'

'He certainly convinced you.' Lucifer laughed. He floated to Crowley now and grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking head forwards, displaying him for Aziraphale to see. The demon mutely pleaded his tense angel friend not to do anything stupid. 

'Are you trying to tell me that this damned is capable of anything other than following his own selfish interest? When he spent all this time flirting with you, not even waiting till they put your significant other in the grave? Are you trying to tell me, that I am wrong about this demon I lead in the Uprising? With whom I spent thousands of years locked up in Hell?' 

'He is kind.' Aziraphale nodded and as if the words were whips, they made Lucifer retreat with each syllable. 'And brave. Gentle even. And selfless.'

'Are you sure? Are you willing to bet on it?' The devil growled, like a famished predator. Aziraphale simply nodded again.

'Oh, this is too perfect.' Lucifer mumbled, now almost purring. 'Everyone shall die. All because you saw something that simply wasn't there.'

He began to grow, Lucifer, soon towering over them instead of looking them in the eye.

'I offer you a deal, then.' His voice was so big now, it filled the endless empty fields of Purgatory. 'A simple enough wager. If you win, you shall have the Book.'

He opened his palm with the flourish of a cheap conjuror and the Book of Peace was sitting on it.

'And if you win?' Crowley demanded, knowing his ways all too well.

'Does it matter whatever happens if you shan't have the Book?' Shrugged Lucifer.

'What is the task at hand?'

'It's simple. You just need to tell me the truth, Crowley. From the bottom of your deep, dark, demonic soul.'

'And the question?'

There he was again, the devil, side by side with an angel, facing him as an equal. He was offering the Book to him, held it at arm's length.

'Now, we all know what happens if you get the Book of Peace. You return it to Syracuse and avert the Apocalypse. But if you don't get the Book, you have a choice to make. Either you run away to a distant galaxy with the love of your life or return to Syracuse to die. You're either a sinner or a saint. So, here's my question, Crowley. If you don't get the Book, will you go back to die?'

His gaze wandered, from Lucifer, from the Book to Aziraphale, who stood there, shoulders tense, features schooled to show a neutral expression. There was really only one right answer, Crowley knew. He couldn't resist a small smile as he firmly announced.

'I will go back.' 

Lucifer stepped ahead, thrusting the Book to the demon. But as he lay his hands on the binding, the devil's smooth face shattered into the most grotesque parody of a smile and he sang at Crowley in a horrible, mocking tone.

'You are lying!' 

And all around them the world was shattering also and Crowley was falling, always falling, towards new, yet unheard of lows.

They found themselves back on Earth a moment later, in the ocean. Gasping and fighting for air they swam to shore on a small, bare island nearby. In the near distance they could still make out the Gate. The ocean was empty of vessels, close and far. 

There really wasn't much left to say as they sat on the small shore. Well, maybe except for one thing.

'I'm sorry, angel. He is right about me.'

There was steel in Aziraphale's voice as he responded. He was staring at waves, in the vague direction of Syracuse.

'No, he's not. You answered his question. You told the truth.'

'It wasn't the truth. It was me trying to pass myself off as someone I'm not.'

Aziraphale turned to him, placed his hands on his arm. 

'I've seen who you are. You don't need to pretend.' 

Crowley made an exasperated sound in his throat. His skin was burning and not only from the salt. It was shame and it hurt far more even than holy water could. 

'I know.' Aziraphale sounded hopeful again. 'I'll go back to Syracuse. I'll explain everything.' 

'Angel…' Crowley interrupted.

But Aziraphale was on his feet, pacing up and down, formulating plans.

'You need to escape. Get as far away as you can.'

Crowley raised himself and put his hands on the angel's shoulder to halt his pointless rambling.

'Aziraphale…'

'Lucifer trapped you. Why should you or Raphael or anyone have to die?' His blue eyes were misting up. 

'Oh, angel.'

'I can't watch you die!' Aziraphale burst out, voice desperate, strangled. 'I love you.'

The demon pulled him in a tight embrace. He could feel the angel's tears soaking his shirt as Aziraphale buried his face in his chest, fingers clutching his back, frantically. He rested his chin on the angel's curls and fought the urge to stomp and shout in utter hopelessness. 

'We better make a move soon.' He urged the angel even though he could easily have stayed like this for a thousand years. 'Time is different in Hell. We can't be sure how much we have left.'

Wind started somewhere at the edge of the world and by the time its soft, playful caress reached the tiny, sandy island it was bare of all life forms, angelic and demonic alike.

The sunset on the seventh of day of his confinement was just as magnificent as the seventh sunset ever. Raphael never ceased to marvel at Her creations, but was still shocked to find out that in Her eternal wisdom, She even created a specific emotional reaction to betrayal.

He wasn't surprised by the demon. He didn't expect anything less from him, than to run like a cowardly dog. But Aziraphale? That hurt like Hell.

Whenever he tried to come up with some reasonable explanation for his absence images of his unguarded gaze, as he admired the demon, flooded his mind. He never once looked at Raphael that way.

He should have felt angry, but he was only tired. Tired of wasting his breath, of politics, of defending creatures he had little to no regards for. In the confinement of his lonesome cell he could finally admit that he only took humans under his wings because they meant so much for Aziraphale. But that was over now. 

He was fed up with treaties and negotiations and longed to hold a sword again, like on the day of the Uprising. He especially longed to plunge his sword in the chest of a specific demon.

God was right, all along, he had to realise again, in Her approach to love and adoration. Kindness had failed to convey his love for Aziraphale. But his jealous Anger will surely do the job. When he is discorporated and sent back to Heaven, he decided, he'll ensure that Apocalypse is unleashed. He'll kill the demon Crowley and that shall teach Aziraphale to fear and respect him. And then he can take all eternity to teach him to love him. And if the plan left a bitter aftertaste, well, it was a small price to pay for eventual happiness.

He was shaken from this vision of future by the noise of a heavy key turning in the lock on his cell. Two morose guards waited at the door, one holding the key, another offering cuffs to him. Raphael felt something akin to anticipation. He could hardly wait to begin undoing these stupid, clueless humans.

He was dragged through the palace, across the ballroom and on the balcony, where he realised his execution could be displayed for the whole of Syracuse to revel in. He could hear the bloodthirsty murmur of the savage crowd below.

But if he expected a hanging tree or an executioner leaning on his large axe, he had to be disappointed. The structure the humans built for the occasion was practically a ducking stool. He raised his head proudly as he got ready to step on stage, but to his surprise, a guard stopped him, unchained him and left him unsupervised, hurrying to continue with the preparations.

They weren't executing him? But if not, who will be….

He saw a flash of white from the corner of his eye. Turning towards the other side of the balcony, he spotted Aziraphale at the front of a small delegation. Raphael's traitorous heart skipped beat upon spotting him, only to appear to sink to the level of his knees, heavily, right after. Behind the angel there was a platoon of guards and they surrounded Crowley who wasn't simply cuffed, but wrapped in chains. It was quite frankly ridiculous, because chains never would have stopped him if he wanted to escape, but he followed the palace guards with perfect obedience. 

And if Raphael had any doubts, any hope that he was witnessing a victorious angel as he thwarts a vile, it was soon undermined. Because as they reached the stool, the angel turned to Crowley, hooked his fingers around the back of his neck and pressed their foreheads together in the most gentle display of affection. Raphael felt something that can only be described as pain, even though he just stood there, watching, unharmed. The only reason he did not storm out was that he knew, he'll soon witness the demon's descend in holy water. 

Very little was being said as they lead Crowley in the middle of the ducking stool. At least nothing he hasn't heard before. The demon was accused with the theft of the Book of Peace, then ordered to return it. When he had nothing to show, he was told that the Twelve Cities are executing him for his crimes, his betrayal.

And even though he promised himself that he'll bear witness to the demon's death, he found he was unable to look away from Aziraphale. Putting on a brave face, the angel wasn't even blinking as he followed the execution. He seemed completely unaware of the tears streaming down on his face, or he just didn't want to wipe them, should he miss even a second of the demon's final moments. But when the lever was pulled and the trap door opened under the fiend, Aziraphale turned his face away, screwed his eyes closed, looked as if he wanted to curl up upon himself and shut the whole world out. He was quite obviously hurting and Raphael realised that there was no triumph in this moment. Not for him. Not for humanity. Nothing was gained, everything was lost. 

The crowd gasped. Then screamed. Nothing surprising there. A death of a demon was a violent event. But the screams didn't seem to end. Suddenly, storm clouds gathered on the sky with almost supernatural speed and among the million towers and rooftops of the magnificent city a large figure emerged. Raphael was appalled to see the devil himself. 

He still looked human, more or less as two thick, dark ram's horns were protruding from his unblemished forehead and liquid fire was pouring from his yellow eyes, while clouds of sulphur escaped his mouth every time he spoke. He leaned over the balcony, enormous hands clasping the balustrades, body emitting the foul smelling heat of Hell. He was staring at the demon Crowley, who was standing, unharmed, amongst the ruins of the ducking stool, free of his chains but retreating as Lucifer was pushing his face towards him.

'How dare you?!' Satan thundered. 'Everything was going perfectly, and now you do this!' 

He banged his wrist on the marble floor and large chunks of the palace wall crumbled in the depth below them.

'Lucifer, I-I don't understand.' Crowley crouched a bit, shielding his head as the humongous fist landed dangerously close to him.

'Oh, don't play coy with me. Maybe you can fool these people, but I know who you are. You're a selfish, unprincipled liar!' 

The last words echoed through the whole of Syracuse to hear. Crowley straightened as he slowly understood just how impotent Lucifer's rage was, recognition appearing on his face. 

'Wait a minute. I didn't lie. I came back. That's why you're here. This was all part of your test. I told the truth. And wasn't there something about deal?'

Lucifer's face turned a notch angrier, he raised his hand again, clearly ready to smite the demon below, but something stopped him from crushing Crowley like an insignificant insect. As he tried to lay his hand on him, wind rose from somewhere about him, pushing him back, frailing the edge of his hazy body. Finally he ceased to struggle and offered his open palm to the demon instead, where, suddenly, the Book of Peace was sitting. 

Crowley snatched it before Lucifer could change his mind and thrusted it in the hand of King Dymas, who came running from the background, ignoring the dangers, as soon as he spotted the Book. But Lucifer wasn't gone yet, he simply shrunk again, looking as much the seductive succubus as ever. He swayed near Crowley, running his long fingers down the demon's jawline, letting them caress his nervously bobbing Adam's apple.

'And now that I delivered my end of the deal, what prevents me from destroying you this very instant?'

To Raphael's utter shock, upon hearing these words Aziraphale stepped forward from the crowd, wings just short from showing, powers almost on visible display. Lucifer smiled to himself, then allowed his lips to follow the track outlined by his fingers and whispered hotly on the demon's skin.

'Lucky for you, I am partial to rebels. Hmm, but you'll have to work hard to earn your way back to my good graces. As for now, I have places to go. Things to destroy. Stuff to steal.' 

And with a minor explosion of smoke he was gone. 

Dozens of things seemed to be happening at once. King dymas proudly opened the Book, showing its magical pages for his people to see and the angelic light of the holy object transformed the sky. The sun shone on Syracuse and the Twelve Cities again, bathing them in light, dressing them in gold, banishing the last remains of shadows. 

Raphael was dragged away with the celebratory delegation, asked to witness as the Book was placed back in its rightful place, begged to say a blessing over it and the cities and their people. A banquet was being organised and he was needed to translate on several separate occasions. Hours have passed before he had a minute for himself and deep down he was certain that he will not find Aziraphale ever again.

But there he was, standing on the balcony, leaning on the balustrade, watching a merchant ship as it slowly left the harbour below.

'Aziraphale.' He addressed the angel, voice ragged, awkward. His better half stiffened, stealthily wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and he turned to face him with all the composure and cheeriness he could muster.

'Your Holiness.'

'Where is the demon Crowley? Despite my better judgement the people would like to invite him as a guest of honour to their celebration.'

'I couldn't detain him, Sire. I lost him the confusion.'

'But where did he go?' Raphael asked, uncomprehending.

'Wherever there is a possibility to spread chaos and stir misery, I believe.'

Ordinarily he would have thought the angel was lying through his teeth. But there was something broken in his expression that testified for the honesty of his words. He was clearly filled to the brim with love for the demon. It just so happened that the demon was incapable of returning his feelings. It was a possibility he did not entertain, as it seemed unimaginable to him that someone would be unable to love Aziraphale. But demons were different to angels, he reminded himself. Even the ones who did not seem so evil upon first glance.

He struggled with this urge to comfort Aziraphale. It was time he accepted that he had nothing for him to offer. 

'Will you meet him again?' He whispered, incapable of holding back the question.

Aziraphale chuckled. 'I doubt that I'll come across any demons upon returning to Heaven, your Holiness.' 

'There is one last lesson we need to discuss today, Aziraphale, for your edification. It is a fable, about the purest of the angels, a principality so filled with love for all of God's creation that upon being offered to return to Heaven, despite his heart being broken, the angel chose to stay on Earth to do God's work and spread God's love. Now what does the moral of this story teach us, my dear?'

He looked at Aziraphale, who was staring at him, blue eyes shining with new tears.

'Raphael, I…' he began but he was too overwhelmed to finish. He did not need to say anything, though. His hopeful expression was speaking for itself.

'I think it tells us that we have a lot to learn still, before we can call ourselves worthy. Especially you. Your reckless decision to trust a demon is a testimony of that. Your irresponsible behaviour may have payed off this time, but it still forces me to demote you. You shall stay on Earth indefinitely as a field agent until I judge your learning to be complete, upon which you'll be ready to return to Heaven. I am very sorry about this, my fellow angel, but my hands are tied.' 

Aziraphale threw his arms around him, pulled him into the very embrace he'd been longing for thousands of years, but for all the wrong reasons. He allowed himself to return the hug, clutching the angel desperately, trying to fill himself with the sensation so it would last him in Heaven for an eternity. Deep down he knew he'll never be content with this much. 

'Thank you.' Whispered Aziraphale over and over again. 'Thank you.'

'Yes, well.' He pulled himself away and it was the hardest goddamn thing he'd ever done. 'I'll be keeping an eye on you, Aziraphale. God be with you.' 

And he wished himself back to Heaven to prevent himself from confessing things he could not take back, then and there.

That left Aziraphale alone on the balcony. Yes, he was heartbroken but he was also free. There was to be a celebration and he had no supervisor with him and while he had no intention to join the stiff banquet in the palace, there was going to be a street festival too. And people will be dancing the jig there and they'll be drinking grog and rum and wine.

And they'll be sinful and they'll be holy and irresistibly human all along and he could hardly wait to get to know them. 

**London, St. James' Park - Present days**

The Sun was a rare visitor in the autumnal City, so Aziraphale turned his face towards the caressing, warm rays to savour each and every one of them while they lasted, leaning back on his bench. It was too bright, so he closed his eyes and let his mind wander. Therefore he did not realise that he was being approached until he heard a soft little cough from above him.

Looking up he thought for a moment that he was having a waking dream, because dressed in the soft, steely grey of the English sky The Holy Principality Raphael himself was standing over him. 

'Long time, Aziraphale.' He greeted him, almost shy in his approach. He looked as divine as ever, features unchanged except for his sharp, intelligent gaze that looked uncharacteristically uncertain.

'Your Holi… Raphael!' He smiled and tried to rise to greet the man.

'Don't get up. May I sit?'

Aziraphale gestured invitingly at the bench. Raphael only allowed himself to be perched on the very edge of it, as if he needed to be ready to flee. He radiated discomfort, so unlike his natural, pompous self.

'What brings you to Earth?' Aziraphale wondered, cheerful. He knew that Raphael thought he transcended angels and became something that neither Heaven's nor Hell's rule apply to, therefore he had nothing to fear. It was the first time in an eternity that he could relax around his own kind. 'Pleasure or work?'

'Loose ends need tying up. There was this horrible mess of a stillborn Armageddon. You can imagine the paperwork.' 

Aziraphale sighed, contentedly. No bureaucracy for this angel. For a while.

'But that's not why I am really here.' 

He took a deep breath and looked out at the fat ducks of the royal park, as if he came to contemplate the queen's swans.

'How have you been, Aziraphale?' He stalled.

'I had my hands full with the Apocalypse too.' Sniggered the angel.

'I thought you'd have routine in averting them by now.' Raphael looked back at him, smiling. Aziraphale laughed a little bit and with that Raphael leaned back too.

'Why it did seem easier. At least we had been warned well ahead this time round.'

The Sun disappeared behind a stretch of grey clouds.

'We?' Raphael asked, eyes following his fingers that were tracing an arcane pattern on his trousers.

'Crowley helped.' 

'The wily old serpent is still around?' 

'Up to no good as always.'

'And you and him, you've been…'

'I can report that I've been thwarting him at every turn.' Aziraphale did a mock salute with artificial cheeriness.

'So things have not changed?' 

He forced lightness in his voice as he was threading on a treacherous path.

'Not for me, no.' Aziraphale sighed. 

'Because,' Raphael's distrustful gaze followed his own hand as if it had a life of its own, reaching towards Aziraphale, resting over his hand. 'the reason I am really here is to ask for a second chance.' 

Aziraphale sat stiffly, as he if he did not feel Raphael's touch. It was his turn to stare rigidly at the poor, unsuspecting aquatic birds of St. James'. So Raphael was forced to lift his hand and turn his face towards him. He cupped his cheeks and pressed his lips on Aziraphale's unresponsive mouth, breathing coming ragged through his nose. Their lips soon parted, so he rested his forehead against Aziraphale's and whispered with his eyes closed.

'I love you Aziraphale. And you could learn to love me. I would be good to you. Much better than the demon, anyway. How long has it been, since you became the masters of your own fate? Four weeks? And he still didn't make a move. I think his actions, or the lack of them, speak loudly enough. What are you hoping for?'

'That's enough, Raphael.' Said the angel sternly and he peeled the archangel's hands away from him, folded them on each other and placed them on Raphael's lap, patting them gently before ultimately breaking their contact.

'We are supposed to be together. But you want someone who loves you despite the plan and not because of it.' Concluded the archangel.

'It's not even that. You belong to Heaven and I belong here.'

'You've been on Earth for nearly six thousand years.'

'I finally got the chance to make it my home instead of my mission.'

'You had that all along.' 

'I was far too busy being Heaven's obedient little pawn.' 

'Obedient? You know nothing about obedience. I could just take you.' Raphael lifted a hand to his throbbing temple, fighting the anger in his voice. 'I have the right. You were given to me.'

'And will you?'

A moment passed and clearly it was a moment of Raphael seriously contemplating the option. But he shook his head in the end, defeated.

'You love everything about this place so much. I don't mind about that. But I wanted you to love me the most. If I can't have that, than it's not worth it.'

'I can't change who I am. If you are not content with it, than maybe we were never meant to be.' 

Aziraphale stood and Raphael followed suit. 

'If you were ever to change your mind… Well, you know where to find me.' The archangel suggested, reaching out one last time, holding Aziraphale's right, toying with his finger.

Looking up he didn't just see the angel's pained expression, but above his shoulder he spotted a familiar demon, crossing the lawn with big strides, ignoring the footpath as if it never existed in the first place. Eyeing the demon in the distance as he did so, Raphael leaned forward and placed a chaste little kiss on Aziraphale's cheek. He couldn't help feeling rejoice when he saw Crowleg stopping dead in his track. 

'Goodbye, Aziraphale.' 

'God bless you, Raphael.' 

Aziraphale sighed with relief as he walked away. 

'Angel.' Said a familiar voice behind him.

'Ah, here you are, old boy. Ready for lunch?'

They walked to the Bentley in silence and remained mute for most of their route to Crowley's Mayfair high rise. The angel could count on one hand the amount of times he visited the demon's flat and felt excited about the invitation earlier on, but now he was mostly lost in his thoughts. Finally, during a particularly lengthy red light, Crowley brought up the topic he's been meaning to approach.

'What did Raphael want? Are we in trouble?' 

'It wasn't a formal visit. He just wanted to chat.'

This cryptic response raised more questions than it answered but Crowley did not push the matter further and he allowed Freddy Mercury do the talking for the rest of the journey. 

It took the entire drive for the angel to ease up again, but by the time Crowley lead him through his front door he was looking forward to a night of take away Indian and Golden Girls reruns that was surely in store for them. Stepping through the threshold it immediately caught his attention how the place was bathed in gold light. Entering the living room he saw that every conceivable surface was covered in lit tea candles and they were the ones emitting the soft glow. 

He probably should have thought something like _ "oh why, this is a real fire hazard". _ His own bookshop just burnt down, after all. 

But instead he thought _"it's lovely". _And a stupid little voice in his brain had the audacity to chime in with "_it looks like as if he is about to propose_" and honestly how delusional can a man get before he is considered a danger to himself?

'Oh. Were you summoning something, dear?' He suggested casually feigning ease he did not feel. 'You ought to put the candles out when you leave the place.'

'It's for you.' Said the demon stiffly as he followed him inside. 'It's supposed to be romantic. It's too much, isn't it?'

'Why there must be something in the air today.' Aziraphale pushed a pressure point on his forehead with the flat of his hand. 'First it's Raphael with this nonsense and now you are at it too.'

'Aha. So what did Raphael want to chat about exactly?!'

'Oh no, Anthony J. Crowley, stop it with the diversion tactics. Come on, out with it. What is the meaning of this?' The indignant angel gestured about himself. 

Crowley suddenly looked about half of his usual height. He quickly snatched his glasses off and began to play with the temples.

'I'm here to confess something that you already know. Angel. Aziraphale. I love you.'

'Why I love you too, dear boy.' He repeated but he clearly wasn't saying the same thing. It was a new thing that language could do these days. In the old world everything had a proper name, he thought with nostalgia, and they held power, but words have degenerated and he could now be intentionally obtuse while admit to nothing. 

'You are not making it easy. I guess I deserve that.'

'How much simpler can I make things for you?' He was losing his patience despite promising himself that he won't get upset. He took a deep breath, smoothing his voice, his temper. 'We are good friends, who enjoy each others company. It's a mutual understanding we have. This is very sweet but you don't need grand gestures to reaffirm that.'

'But I am not talking about our friendship.'

'Well then I am not sure that we have anything to talk about.' 

'You don't believe. That I am capable of love, that is.'

'No. No!' And here they were again, the angel finding himself on the defensive, despite thinking that he was the one being wronged. 'I believe that your feelings are valid. And sincere or that the very least you think they are. And I am certain that you could love someone with honest, deep, romantic love. Just not me. So stop it. You are inflicting something irreversible and when you, inevitably, regret changing the status quo there will be no going back. Not for me. Not this time.'

'I never stopped loving you angel.'

'I understand where are you coming from. It's been a turbulent couple of days. It's only natural to carve affection, wanting to rekindle an old flame. But what you are asking is too much for me. Because when I said that I loved you, four thousand years ago, I wasn't speaking lightly and _ my _ feelings never changed. So it's hard enough, maintaining our friendship as it is. I'll certainly won't be able to go back and forth. So let's put these candles out, open some wine and continue with our lives as if none of this conversation has ever happened, shall we?' 

'We can't. We wasted… _ I _ wasted too goddamn long with my head in the sand, scared stiff about what should happen if we… eloped.' Crowley frowned unhappily at his own choice of words, then shook his head and continued. 'I mean, it was true. Part of me wanted you to Fall because I could not see any other way to be with you without antagonizing both sides. And that's something that you should not wish even for you worst enemy. Falling, I mean. Let alone the love of your life. So I decided to keep away from you, should I fail to resist tempting you.'

'Why you did? Sorry, I haven't noticed.' His sarcasm was sharp and on point. He learned that from the demon, actually. 

'I tried. But I found that I couldn't. Not longer than a few decades at a time,' 

That was true. After Syracuse they met in a tavern somewhere in the Roman Empire less than a century later and it was the most awkward encounter in history of… well everything. Aziraphale was still so raw. Hell bent on concealing how hurt and affected he was, he tried to strike a light tone and used the most embarrassing opening line. He still cringed when he thought about it. _ Still a demon _? Goddamn moron. 

Crowley, on the other hand, appeared sad and indignant as if he was the one who got dumped and that confused the angel so much that he fallen into this habit of pretending that the whole incident in Syracuse had never happened - a weird pretense none of them broke, until now. And mere five seconds later he found himself asking Crowley out for lunch, genuinely excited to show him the oysters, something that he alone discovered in his new independent life. And _before Crowley, _no less. That was the moment he realised, heartbroken as he may be, he wasn't ready to lose the demon altogether. When he realised just how well and truly _ fucked _ he was. 

So he continued his slightly masochistic friendship with the demon. To save his dignity, he would often plant artificial distance between them, reminding Shakespeare that he barely knew the gentleman in glasses, calling their friendship "fraternizing" in 17th century London and more. He went as far as to say said he didn't like the demon when he asked him to run away with him, because he was scared out of his wits to say yes, should Crowley change his mind again. 

'Well, to be fair, you didn't have to tell me twice to look for excuses to see you. Like that time when I showed up to the French Revolution, dressed as nobility.' Chuckled the Aziraphale.

'No shit, angel. Could you have been any more obvious? Pretending it was about _ crêpes _.'

'I wanted to see you. Like I said. I like you.' Aziraphale shrugged.

Crowley stepped closer to him and got hold of his hands.

'Could you love me stil?'

'It's been so long.' Aziraphale hated the soft whine in his voice. 'And we managed this way quite well. So why now?' 

'Because we broke every conceivable rule together when we stopped the Apocalypse and we weren't destroyed and you didn't Fall. And I can't believe that I wasted almost four thousand years thinking that my love would destroy you.'

'It didn't. But the absence of it nearly did.' He was too tired to feel ashamed of his tears. Crowley stepped to him, pulled him in an embrace. It was more to soothe him, than anything else. Aziraphale clung to him like he was the only steady thing in the entire world.

'But it's not too late.' It was a stillborn of a statement, sounding pathetically like a question. 

'No. But it's about fucking time.'

The demon laughed, then leaned closer and suddenly they were kissing each other with the desperation of an eternal yearning.

After nearly six thousand years, something missing finally clicked in its place and the universe righted itself. And there was love. And it was good. 


End file.
